Cerberus' Tears
by JamesRamsey
Summary: The war has been over for two years and the wizarding world is trying to move on and rebuild. One night will change everything for two childhood enemies. Misconceptions will be shattered and new bonds formed. For Draco and Hermione things will never be the same. EWE Non-canon. Rated M for violence.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Warning! This story contains graphic descriptions of torture and rape as well as scenes of horror. This story is clearly marked as Mature! Read at your own risk!

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Chapter 1

The night was cold and damp, the dew on the grass soaking the ends of his robes as he walked through Hyde Park on his way home. Sure he _could_ have Apparated there, but he was in no hurry. There wasn't anyone waiting for him; there never was. It was nice to steal these few minutes for himself. In this moment he didn't have to pretend, didn't have to act like his father or be the vicious Death Eater; he could think. He could enjoy the sounds of the few Muggles around him as they hurried home in the dark. He could stroll through the park and bask in the quiet of the grass, feel the brisk fall breeze ruffling his hair, enjoy the anonymity that the darkness and the trees provided.

Officially, the war had ended two years ago. Two long years since Harry Potter had fulfilled the hopes and dreams of most of the wizarding world and killed the Dark Lord Voldemort. Yes, officially the war was over.

Officially.

The Ministry was in denial. The world was still at war; it was just a different kind of war now. One that was infinitely more dangerous because it had gone underground. Now instead of facing off honourably on a field of battle, the enemy attacked out of the blue and then scattered to the wind. Sometimes their targets were so random and puzzling that only the bizarre stories of the witnesses confirmed that the incidents were caused by wizards at all. Who blows up a Muggle animal shelter?

The remaining Death Eaters had scattered after Voldemort's death at the Battle of Hogwarts. A new leader took the reins, backed by a new generation of supporters. Seventh year students that got a taste of power under the tutelage of the Carrow siblings and that Umbridge woman had joined dear Uncle Rodolphus Lestrange in his quest for revenge and blood purity.

Bloody idiots, the lot of them. Hypocrites! Even the Dark Lord himself had been a half-blood, and yet they all conveniently forgot about that. Once they got a taste for the killing and desecration, it really wasn't about blood purity any more. It was all about the power and anarchy they revelled in.

Rodolphus was quickly joined by some of the more unstable of the original Death Eaters: Alecto Carrow, Mulciber, and Dolohov. All with a personal grudge and a heavy dose of insanity to fan the flames of the quest for blood purity. They terrorized most of the world with their attacks on Muggle-borns and 'blood traitors'. Only now, things were almost worse than they were when Voldemort was alive. Now, there was no rhyme or reason to the attacks; no pattern to follow. They weren't out to take over the Ministry or achieve world domination. No, they were on some demented mission from their martyred Lord to take out as many Muggle-borns, blood traitors, and half-breeds as they could before they were killed or captured. Yes, they had added half-breeds to their vendetta. Ethnic cleansing they called it.

Draco mentally rolled his eyes. He wondered if a selective memory was a symptom of the insanity that plagued the so-called 'Pure Bloods' or if it was as a result of too much in-breeding. They _all_ had some kind of Muggle blood in their families somewhere, either Muggle blood or some kind of creature. Giant blood, Veela blood, or even an Elf on rare occasions; it was inevitable. No wizarding family could possibly be entirely pure-blood wizard. It was arrogant to think otherwise.

To Draco's mind, magic flowed like water, like a breeze through the trees, vaguely predictable but completely uncontrollable. If a witch or wizard was born to two Muggle parents, it was simply a fact of nature. An anomaly to be sure, but the Pure Blood families were dwindling. Squibs were born almost every day. The way Draco saw it, it was nature trying to preserve the balance. Where magic was lost in one place, it was replaced in another.

As for the half-breeds, adding the blood of a purely magical creature to your family tree just seemed like a way to strengthen the magic as far as he was concerned. Hell, that oaf Hagrid was almost impervious to most harmful spells due to his half-giant blood. That was bloody useful when you thought about it.

And how did Draco know so much about the inner workings of the Death Eaters? Because he was one. Sort of.

He supplied them with food, clothing, magical supplies, and information on the Ministry. At least they thought he did. They _thought_ he was their perfectly placed, outwardly reformed spy. To the world, Draco had taken up the mantle of the Malfoy name and conformed to a post-Voldemort world. He invested in companies owned by Muggle-borns and half-bloods. He had taken his father's place on the Board of Education and was active in political circles that supported rights for all magical creatures. The Death Eaters thought it was the perfect joke and a brilliant cover story. Only it was the truth. Sometimes the truth was so outlandish, so unbelievable that it had to be a lie. Not one of the Death Eaters would ever believe that Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black-Malfoy, could ever sympathize with Mudbloods, blood-traitors, and half breeds.

Draco had become a master of duality. No one played their part more brilliantly than he. Even the famous Harry Potter secretly commended him on his performance. He was the major lynchpin that held it all together. Without Draco, Potter and his followers would be stumbling around in the dark, constantly on the defence never on the offence. It was a very delicate tightrope to walk. If the Death Eaters ever found out his secret, death would have been a welcomed mercy. The things they would do to him would make the torture of the Longbottoms seem like a mild interrogation.

Yes, it was nice to walk through the park in the middle of the night and not have to perform. He could relax his cold visage and drop his mask, let down his guard a bit, if only for a while. The darkness, somewhere no one could see, protecting his identity and his emotions. He could contemplate his life and the loneliness that permeated his very soul; the life that he had condemned himself to.

He could never allow anyone to get too close; they would be in too much danger. Even his few friends were held at a distance for fear that someone would think to use them against him. Never again would someone he cared about get hurt to force his compliance. He had been hiding his thoughts and emotions and living a double life for so long, he was surprised he even knew himself anymore. Everyone assumed that he was a Pure Blood fanatic due to his upbringing. And they might have been right. Up until he was fifteen, he honestly thought he was better than any Muggle-born or blood traitor. Did he think that they should all be killed? No, they were simply beneath him. He never questioned it; his parents had kept him well sheltered from the Muggle world, and his only friends were the sons and daughters of his parents' friends. All Pure Bloods.

And then he turned fifteen. At fifteen he learned the secret the Malfoys hid from the world. At fifteen Voldemort returned, and he saw fear in his father's face for the first time.

Malfoy Manor was no longer his home; Voldemort had moved in and brought all his insane little friends with him, forcing Draco's family to live under a very dangerous magnifying glass. Draco watched helpless as his parents were reduced to mere servants in their own home, tortured for the smallest infraction. All of them withered and became fragile under the strain of constantly having to guard their thoughts from the most skilled legillimens of the age. After his father's failure at the Department of Mysteries...well, Draco didn't like to think about those times if he could help it. Suffice it to say that Draco hated the Death Eaters and everything they represented.

The silence of the night was broken by a pained cry and the sound of someone laughing cruelly. Draco stopped, indecision flickering over his aristocratic features. Then a scent came to him on the breeze and Draco froze, his blood running cold. Hoping his senses had failed him for the first time in his life, he eased in the direction he had heard the cry come from.

"I've had my fun, now it's time to take you to your new Master, Mudblood! He won't be near as nice to you as I've been." The gravelly voice grated across Draco's nerves and raised the hair on the back of his neck.

The scent of blood was heavy in the air and his ears were filled with a soft pain-filled whimpering. Decision made, Draco drew his wand and silently transfigured his robes into a long black cloak with a deep hood to hide his features and distinctive honey blonde hair. Blood rushing in his ears, he crept forward and saw a broken and bleeding woman trying painfully to drag herself to safety, a laughing Death Eater standing over her. Before Draco could do anything, the Death Eater kicked her over and pressed his wand into the woman's flesh. The park rang with her ragged screams.

Rage flooded his body as Draco pointed his wand and thought, '_Stupefy_!' In a flash of red light, the Death Eater fell to the ground and lay quiet, caught completely unaware.

Draco ran up to the woman whose agony-filled eyes were fighting with consciousness. Her face, although partially obscured by her hair, was swollen and covered in blood, much of it bubbling from her mouth. Her clothes were in rags around her. It was obvious she had been raped. Her body was covered in bruises; several of her bones were clearly broken and strips of flesh had been systematically flayed from her body. She had been tortured.

Unbidden images flashed through Draco's mind of his mother lying on their ballroom floor as Voldemort used her to punish Draco and his father for their failures. Instead of the woman's body, he saw his mother's as she was held down by cloaked and masked Death Eaters, Voldemort watching in delight as she was tortured and raped in front of a laughing and cheering crowd of black cloaked figures, figures that previously the Malfoy family had called friends. Lucius gagged and chained, unconscious beside Draco, his mother's blood soaking into their shredded clothes. Draco, screaming behind his own gag, struggled, helpless to save her. Even now he could feel the iron of the shackles cutting into his flesh. The clink of the rings on the stone floor as his mother's screams echoed in his ears, the cloying scent of blood and fear clouding his senses.

The woman's moan brought him back to the present. Draco used a shaking hand and gently brushed the long, dark, and blood-matted hair back off her face. Even under the scent of fear and adrenaline, under the swelling, blood, and tears, Draco could identify her in the dim moonlight. It was Hermione Granger: a member of the Golden Trio and his childhood nemesis.

"Hermione," his voice came out in a sad exhalation.

It was the first time he had ever allowed himself to speak her name aloud, and it was strangely easy. He didn't care who she was. He didn't care who he was and the role he forced himself to play. No one deserved this, especially not know-it-all Granger.

He bent down to pick her up but stopped when she started to claw at his hands. "Shhh…it's alright. I won't hurt you. You're safe now." He tried to reassure her.

Her eyes struggled to open and she gasped out a warning, "Set up...No hospital…..no Ministry…..waiting for me…..I was….set up….Need Harry. Please...Harry," she whimpered, the plea for her best friend falling from her lips as the tears fell from her eyes.

Whatever he felt about Granger, no matter how hurt she was, she was no fool. If she said someone in the Ministry had set her up, they had. And she was right; St. Mungo's wouldn't be safe for her if that was the case. But without knowing who it was, Draco had no idea who he could trust. That left him with only one choice. He would hide her in the last place anyone would look for her―Malfoy Manor.

Pulling a piece of parchment from his robes he used his wand to write the location of the stupefied Death Eater. Only Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley had the other pieces of parchment that it was linked with via a Protean Charm. Either Kingsley or Weasley would send someone to arrest the unconscious monster momentarily. It was time to go. Draco pulled her into his arms and stood, his 6'3" frame easily cradling her slender 5'2" body. The woman in his arms whimpered in pain, her eyes opening briefly.

"Shhhh...Hermione. You're safe now. I won't let anyone hurt you," he whispered and for a moment her eyes focused on his. "You're safe."

With intense concentration, a whispered "Expecto Patronum," and a flick of his wand, a stream of silver shot from the end and something large and hairy took off into the night. His Patronus would find Potter no matter where he was. Draco turned on the spot and with Hermione cradled gently to his chest, Disapparated into the night.

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A/N: Here it is, the first chapter of Cerberus' Tears. For those of you new to my writing, welcome. I have been hanging around in the Twi Fandom for a few years but have many different stories to tell.

For my Twifans, thanks for giving this story and fandom a chance. Glad to see you like my writing enough to try something new!

This story is 90% written so I will be posting one chapter a week until it's complete. It should finish up around 17 chapters or so. As you can tell the content is mature so if you're under the age of eighteen you probably shouldn't be reading this.

Come and find me on Facebook. I love meeting new people and getting to know my readers. facebook dot com slash james dot ramsey dot 5264


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Here it is, the second chapter of Cerberus' Tears. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. So far you all seem interested. Reviews might gain teasers for chapter 3...

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Chapter 2

With a crack Draco appeared in a hidden private study at Malfoy Manor. It was the only place on the grounds he could directly Apparate into as the Manor and grounds had many of the same spells and enchantments on it that protected Hogwarts and many more dark curses and jinxes. Only a Malfoy could get onto the grounds, and only he knew about this room. Unless invited, anyone else would only be able to appear outside the heavily warded gates of the massive walls surrounding the entire Malfoy estate. Even the Floo had been blocked.

The spacious room was warm from the fire in the fireplace. A large mahogany desk faced the door and dominated the room with two leather chairs in front of it. Settled in front of the ornate fireplace were two comfortable arm chairs decorated in a plush deep emerald, a thick rug on the floor. Books lined two of the walls to the ceiling on heavy wooden shelves, paintings decorating the remaining walls in place of the windows that one would expect to find. It was a warm and comfortable room that would have surprised anyone who saw it. The warmth was at odds with the cold persona that Draco, and in fact all the Malfoys, showed to the world. Very few people had ever seen this room, none of them outsiders. It was a private study that was protected by the Fidelius charm, used by generations of Malfoys since the construction of the Manor.

Draco saw none of it. He strode to the concealed door that led directly into the master suite. Ignoring his own bed, he carried the unconscious woman through the opulent bathroom and into the long unused rooms of the Lady of the house. Not since his grandmother's time had these rooms been occupied, his parents choosing to sleep in the Master's bed together. In times past, it was common for married couples to sleep in separate but adjoining bedrooms. In the case of Malfoy Manor, the rooms were separated by the shared master bath and a sitting room. Draco gave a cursory glance about the room to ensure it was clean enough to house the injured woman in his arms.

"Dilly."

With a crack, a small house elf stood at his side. "Master called for Dilly?"

"Make the bed, quickly. Use the cotton sheets. They will be getting bloody. Bring medical supplies and hot water. Hurry," he commanded.

In a surprisingly short time, the bed was made and he laid Hermione down with surprising gentleness, showing no strain for having supported her weight for the past half hour. Just as he did, his pocket vibrated.

Pulling out a cell phone he answered it. "Potter."

"Where is she? Is she alright? What happened?" Harry Potter was frantic on the other end, not giving Draco time to answer any of the questions fired at him.

"If you would like me to answer, you need to give me a chance to get a word in edgewise," Draco bit out. Damn Gryffindors and their need to charge into everything. When Harry didn't say any more, Draco attempted to tell him what he knew.

"I was on my way home to my London townhouse when I heard a struggle in the park. When I went to investigate, Granger was on the ground with a Death Eater standing over her. I stunned him and informed Shacklebolt and Weasley of his whereabouts. She regained consciousness long enough to tell me that she was set up and that she couldn't go to St. Mungo's or the Ministry. She seems to think that whoever set her up is looking for her. I brought her to the Manor. She's safe for now," Draco finished.

"How is she?" Harry asked, knowing that if he wasn't talking to Hermione then she was really hurt.

Draco hesitated, "Alive for the moment. I haven't had time to check her injuries yet. You called me too quickly."

He may not have particularly liked Harry Potter, but he respected him, and he knew the thought of Hermione being hurt this badly would hurt Harry terribly. "I have to get back to her; I'll call when I know more."

"I'm sending Kreacher to you. He knows a bit about healing, and he's devoted to Hermione," Harry said, leaving no room for argument.

"Fine," Draco said. Hermione moaned and Draco looked down at her worriedly. "I'll ring you later." He hung up.

No one would have ever thought that Draco Malfoy would stoop to using a Muggle device, which is why it made it perfect for Harry and Draco to communicate confidentially. It was the rare witch or wizard that knew anything about cell phones, and certainly no Death Eater would expect it. It had taken them a considerable amount of time to work out why Muggle electronics didn't work around magic and how to counteract it. As usual it was Hermione that had provided the answer. She had some kind of laptray completer thing she needed and found that lining the inside of the device with a shielding potion enabled them to work perfectly. The woman was indisputably brilliant. Harry had shared the process with Draco, and they now used it in times of urgency when an owl just wasn't fast enough.

Dilly appeared with the last of the necessary supplies and hot water interrupting his musing.

"Missy is hurt very bad, Master," she said, looking at the battered woman on the bed.

Draco nodded as he carefully removed the last scraps of her shredded clothes, leaving her naked. There was absolutely nothing arousing about the sight, and in fact, Draco felt distinctly sick to his stomach at the sight of her massively abused body. The cleft of her left shoulder had been magically branded with a black '_M_'. It looked similar to the much faded Dark Mark Draco still had on his forearm, only the stylized 'M' stood for Mudblood.

The Death Eaters were capturing Muggle-borns and branding them as slaves. Each Death Eater seemed to _own_ at least one, and their location was hard for him to find without drawing suspicion, making it extremely difficult to arrange for their rescue.

Hermione moaned again and Draco made a quick decision. If she moved around too much, she might do more damage to herself. He pulled his wand and stunned her. Together, Dilly and Draco bathed away much of the blood that seemed to cover every inch of Hermione's body before Draco draped a large towel over her nakedness. His fingers lingered over the faded scar on her arm, the daily reminder she wore of the torture she received at the hands of his Aunt Bellatrix. He pulled the towel over her arm to cover the obscene word just as there was large crack. Draco spun, his wand at the ready, to see a rather old and ugly house elf.

"I is Kreacher, sir. Kreacher is here to help Miss Granger." The elf had a deep gravelly voice and looked rather intimidating for a house elf, despite his large drooping ears and beaky down-turned nose. His small but very muscular body was covered, toga style, in a very neat and clean, light blue pillowcase with a wide piece of worn out leather for a belt, making him look a bit like the house elf version of a battle worn Roman Gladiator. His eyes betrayed his emotions though. He was distraught at the sight of Hermione's mangled body.

"Both her legs are broken, at least a couple ribs, one arm above the elbow, her wrist, and several fingers on her right hand. Her left has been smashed, and she has a head injury. Most of the cuts are superficial, but a few are rather deep and will take several attempts to close with magic." Draco's voice didn't betray his inner anguish and rage as he catalogued her injuries, knowing that Kreacher would make his own assessment and report back to Potter.

The old house elf started to run his hands over Hermione, and Draco felt an instinctual urge to push him away; she had been handled enough. Draco controlled the impulse, not only was it stupid, but the elf would simply force the issue, having been commanded to heal her as well as having genuine feelings for her. Draco was a wizard and _knew_ magic. House Elves _were_ magic. They had powers that witches and wizards only dreamed of.

Together they worked over the gravely injured woman, silently straightening and setting her bones and healing her the best they knew how. Draco watched as a single tear trailed down the ugly elf's cheek. He had never seen a house elf show emotion over a witch or wizard before.

"If Mr. Malfoy will excuse Kreacher, Kreacher will report back to Master Potter now. Kreacher will be back." With a last look at Hermione, the house elf snapped his fingers and faded away.

"The Elf seems to like you very much." Draco said to the room in general, knowing there was no way that Hermione would be able to hear him.

"Missy must be a very good witch, Master." Dilly said, startling Draco. He had forgotten she was there. Draco only nodded. "Will the Missy be okay, Master?"

"I hope so, Dilly," Draco said softly. His hand hesitated as it reached out to Hermione's face. Finally allowing himself, Draco brushed her hair back off her forehead and then ran his knuckles softly down her cheek.

Leaning in, he whispered in her ear. "You'll be safe here. I promise." Before he forced himself to pull away, he allowed himself one long breath to pull her scent deep into his body then retreated to a chair at the far side of the room to maintain his vigil. Several hours later as the sun rose, Draco's cell phone silently vibrated again.

"I'm at the gates. Let me in," Harry said when Draco answered the phone.

Draco reluctantly left her room to make the long trek downstairs and walked out the French doors onto the back terrace. Sensing Harry moving through the gates, he made a show of Dilly serving him coffee before he shivered and appeared to decide to have breakfast in the house.

While the Manor was almost impenetrable, Draco was not one to be too careful. Once he was inside and had closed the doors, he heard a noise behind him. He turned to see Harry Potter taking off his Invisibility Cloak. He was covered in mud and had a fading red mark slashed angrily across one cheek.

"Rough night?" Draco asked dryly.

Harry heaved out a sigh. "You have no idea. Where's Hermione?"

"This way." Draco knew that until he had seen Hermione, it would be useless to try to get any information out of Potter.

The look on Harry's face as he took in the battered image of his best friend pulled at even Draco's heart. He had known that the two were close and thought at times they might even be together, but he had never really grasped just how close. Forcing himself to remain still, Draco watched as Harry sank to his knees at the side of the bed. Taking Hermione's un-bandaged hand, Harry pressed his forehead to it, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hide his emotions.

She really did look a fright. The right side of her face was one large purple mass and the eye was swollen shut. Her head was swaddled in bandages to protect the large lump at the back. At her eyebrow was a barely knitted two inch long cut, and her breath rattled with each shallow inhalation. The rest of her was covered in blankets and Draco was glad for it. If only seeing her face brought her friend this much pain then Draco could only imagine what seeing the rest of her would do to Potter; what the sight of her battered body had done to him.

"She needs a Healer," Draco stated. "Kreacher and I did the best we could but neither of us are qualified for this kind of damage."

"Madam Pomfrey," was Harry's muffled reply from behind Hermione's hand. He raised his head so his words could be heard clearly. "We can trust her not to tell anyone." He swiped at his eyes, trying to mask the few tears that had escaped with a show of tired eye rubbing.

"But can we get her here without blowing my cover?" Draco asked. "Granger is only safe so long as no one knows I have her."

Harry stood and looked around critically. "There's nothing in here that reveals her location, nothing that identifies this as being Malfoy Manor. If you lower the wards and keep out of sight we should be okay. I'll send Kreacher with a Port Key to bring her directly here. She's met him and knows he's loyal to me."

Draco nodded.

"Kreacher," Harry said in a loud voice.

With a 'crack' Kreacher was standing in front of them carrying several items and seemingly covered in soot.

"What the blazes happened to you?!" Harry asked alarmed before Draco could.

"Kreacher went to Miss Granger's house and saw Miss Granger's house was on fire. Kreacher was going to get some things for Miss Granger while she is in bed. Master Potter, the house was on fire and Death Eaters did it."

Harry swore loudly. He looked over at Draco. "Looks like your friends are determined to kill her."

"They're not my friends," Draco ground out viciously.

Harry pulled a battered looking quill out of his pocket and tapped it. "Portus." The quill glowed blue briefly. He looked at Kreacher. "Take this to Madam Pomfrey at Hogwarts. You have fifteen minutes before it takes effect. It will bring her right back here to this room. She is not to know where Hermione is or what happened to her. She is not to know anything about Mr. Malfoy's involvement, is that clear?"

Kreacher bowed. "Kreacher is understanding, Master Potter. Kreacher will get the Healer back here for Miss. Granger." The grisly house elf put down the few possessions he had managed to save from the flames at Hermione's. Taking the feather, with a pop, he was gone.

"Send me your Patronus when Madam Pomfrey is gone. We have a lot to talk about," Draco said before leaving the room to temporarily take down the wards necessary to allow Madam Pomfrey to Port-key in.

It was mid-day before Harry's silvery stag drifted through the wall of his downstairs study. Draco got up and quickly made his way back to Hermione's room. Draco could see the difference in her already. Her face was no longer swollen and purple, and the bandages had been removed from around her head. The cut at her eyebrow was much cleaner and looked as if it had happened days ago rather than hours.

Actually looking at Hermione, Draco thought she might actually look better than Potter. Harry was still dirty and had huge shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep. His mud spattered face was streaked with what were obviously tear tracks.

"He raped her," Harry stated.

"I know," Draco said. "I got there after it happened."

Harry stared at Draco, "How did you know?"

"I've seen the results before," Draco said quietly.

Harry studied the pale wizard in front of him. He knew Draco had suffered under Voldemort. He knew Draco had seen and been forced to do things that would haunt him for the rest of his life, but the lack of emotion in Draco's voice told Harry that things had been so much worse than he had ever imagined. No wonder he was fighting as hard as the rest of them to obliterate the threat the world lived under.

"Madam Pomfrey gave her a potion to ensure that there would be no...lasting reminder...of the incident―in the form of a child, I mean. It's standard procedure in cases like this. She said that there wasn't really much she could do about Hermione's hand though. Even magic can only fix so much. She will probably have to learn to write and wield her wand with her right hand." Harry's voice broke and he cleared his throat to try to cover it.

"He did it because she's so smart. The head injury and smashing her hand is because she's defeated them so many times with her intelligence. You can't be the brightest witch of the age without people getting jealous, especially if you're Muggle-born," Draco stated simply because there was nothing he could say to make this better.

Tearing his eyes from the unconscious Hermione, Draco looked at Harry. "You need a shower. You're getting my carpet dirty." Draco said with a sneer. "When you're clean we can talk. Meet me downstairs when you're done, Dilly will show you the way."

Harry nodded and Draco left him to go to his public study downstairs. This room was more what someone would expect of a Malfoy. The room was all cold angles and decorated green and black with silver accents and an impressively large black desk. A sneering portrait of his father hung behind the desk.

"Father," Draco greeted the portrait.

"Draco," the cold looking portrait said. "I do hope you know what you're doing by having the Mudblood under your roof, boy."

"Not now, Father," Draco said, not having patience for the portrait and his views on the risks Draco was taking with his life.

An image of Draco's mother entered the frame, her eyes showing her concern. "My son."

"Later please, Mother," Draco interrupted her, knowing she had followed him from upstairs where her frame hung in the hidden private study. "Just please, keep a discreet eye on her and let me know if she starts to wake up."

"Of course, Draco," she said, uncharacteristically quiet, and left.

Draco poured himself a glass of Ogden's Firewhiskey, mentally preparing for the conversation to come.

When Harry came in forty-five minutes later, he still looked tired but at least he was clean. Dilly had obviously given him some of Draco's clothes as he was wearing black dress pants and a black jumper over a white collared polo. Time had filled Harry's boyish frame out to a muscular toughness that was enhanced by regular Quiddich matches and regular battles with Death Eaters. His hair was still the unruly chaos it always had been, only now it was a fashionable mess rather than the childish disaster it had been during their time at Hogwarts. The signature glasses were gone now due to some kind of Muggle medical procedure, and Harry's face showed a haggard maturity; his eyes were sharp and constantly scanning for possible threats, reminding Draco a bit of old Mad Eye Moody. Time and constant battle had changed them all. Draco raised an eyebrow at the clothes but Potter only smiled and shrugged, straightening the collar unnecessarily.

The clothes fit Harry surprisingly well, the two men having similar builds: tall with lean well-muscled physiques. Only the pants were slightly too long due to Draco's extra couple of inches.

"So what do we know?" Harry asked.

"We know that Granger, specifically, was attacked. When I got there the Death Eater was getting ready to take her back to her new 'Master'. She said that someone had set her up, which makes sense. It's not exactly easy to arrange for the kidnapping of a Deputy Commissioner, especially a member of the 'Golden Trio'," Draco stated the last with derision.

"Save the act for someone who believes it, Malfoy," Harry said tiredly. "I know you have a reputation to protect, but surely you don't think you need to impress me." Draco may have been actively working for the Ministry, but he was still capable of being an unmitigated prat.

Draco kept his face impassive, refusing to acknowledge Harry's statement.

"Obviously Hermione knows something we don't. We'll have to wait for her to wake up before we can make any solid decisions. I already contacted Kingsley and filled him in. He is ensuring that Rufus effectively disappears and doesn't remember who it was that he attacked," Harry said.

"Rufus Winickus?" Draco questioned.

Harry nodded.

Draco's eyes hardened. Now he knew who to kill for the atrocities that were inflicted on Herm- on Granger.

"In the meantime, I can arrange for her to be transported to a safe location when she wakes up," Harry said.

"No need. She's as safe as she can be right where she is," Draco said before his brain could catch up. Did he really just suggest that Hermione Granger, Muggle-born, know-it-all friend of Scarhead stay in his house? He could practically hear the painting of his father fuming behind him.

"You're barking if you think she's safer here!" exclaimed Harry.

Draco went still momentarily before adopting the casual arrogance that was his usual façade. "Why not? To the world I can be a caring devoted boyfriend who is allowing his girlfriend to stay with him while her house is being rebuilt. To the Death Eaters she is my new slave, under my complete control. She'll be safe simply because owning a Mudblood slave would increase my already high status with them, especially given who she is. Owning a slave enables me to access previously denied privileges that they have kept me out of simply because I didn't have one of my own. This is our chance to find out where they're keeping the real slaves," Draco reasoned, making up the plan as he went along. "With her, we can find out how they're finding so many of the Muggle-borns." Draco refused to admit, even to himself, that it was anything more than that.

"Arrggh!" Harry growled, frustrated that Draco was making so much sense, hating that the cold, puffed-up wanker in front of him was so eager to use Hermione. On the other hand, he knew it was a good plan. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw an image of a broken and violated Hermione, small and pale in the bed upstairs.

"I can't ask her to do that, Malfoy. She's been through enough already. I **won't** ask her to do it." Harry's eyes were hard. "I'll contact you as soon as I've made arrangements for her."

"Fine," Draco stated. He had plans of his own. It would take time for safe arrangements to be made, and surely he would be able to talk to Hermione before then. "I'll send you an owl when she wakes up. Dilly will show you out."

The small house elf appeared at the door of the study with Harry's cloak in her small arms. With a nod, Harry was gone.

Draco shot back the last of his firewhiskey and made his way back upstairs.

He passed the rest of the afternoon and well into the night, sitting in a chair contemplating the woman in front of him. Her small form was dwarfed by the size of the bed in the Lady's suite; a suite of rooms that, by right and tradition, should only have been occupied by his wife. But there would be no Lady Malfoy for Draco. He would never have a wife who could be used against him as his mother was used against his father. Her only crime was loving and being married to a Death Eater, and Voldemort had destroyed her for it.

Which brought Draco's thoughts right back to the bed in front of him. His thoughts swirled around and around, one thought leading to the next which brought him back to the beginning again. His only salvation came in concentrating on the in and out, the rise and fall of her chest as she slept. He had seen one woman killed at the hands of the Death Eaters. This one, Draco vowed, would not meet the same fate. He would keep her close to him, his name and reputation granting her the protection that Potter, and his precious Order, couldn't. Then, when it was over, he would never see her again.

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A/N: Things are getting interesting... Remember, reviews are tips for authors and may earn teasers. Thanks for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: WARNING this chapter contains graphic descriptions of rape and torture. While I do not intend to glorify rape in any way, please be mindful that it is integral to the story.

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Chapter 3

Hermione came back to herself slowly. She realized that breathing hurt and knew if she moved, her entire body would feel the same. Darkness surrounded her, making it impossible for her to attempt a guess at where she had been brought. She was in a soft bed and the linens were warm and comforting, so she was pretty sure she wasn't still in the hands of her captor.

Oh god, her kidnapper. Flashes of memories flickered behind her closed eyes.

She remembered she had been walking out of the Ministry, on her way to an unexpected last minute meeting, heading toward the alley to the Apparition point when she was grabbed. Then the horrible squeezing feeling as her captor pulled her into a side-along Apparition. She had stumbled and fallen when they popped into a park somewhere. She had drawn her wand only to be disarmed immediately. She had tried to crawl away but had no sooner made it to her knees when she heard "Immobulus" behind her, and she was frozen, helpless in place.

"Filthy little Mudblood Whore!" The voice behind her had been terrifying but she could do nothing.

"What a good little whore you are. Already on your knees where all dirty whores should be. Let's see the goods, shall we?"

Hermione realized that the worst was yet to come and there wouldn't be a thing she could do about it. She screamed and cried in her head, trying every non-verbal spell she could but she had been too terrified to focus. The man she now knew was a Death Eater, tore the clothes from her body.

She felt his breath on her neck as his body leaned over hers, her hair wound in his fist. "When I'm done with you, Mudblood, not even your precious Harry Potter will want you!"

Fire ripped through her body as he forced himself inside her in one brutal thrust. A scream tore from her throat as she felt like she was being torn in two.

Hermione started to cry as she tried desperately to stop the memories and deal with the mental and physical agony racing through her.

Out of the dark came a soothing voice. "Shhhh...Hermione, you're safe now. It's alright, he's gone."

A large shadow moved to the side of her bed, and she jerked back painfully in fear as a hand reached for her. "Please, No!"

"Easy, you're safe here. Shhhh…it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you; I just need to see if you have a fever."

Each breath she took felt like someone was cutting her open with a red hot knife. Her panicked sobs demanding, she gulped in air making the pain so much worse with every breath.

"Slow down, you're safe here. Slow breaths, that's right. Breathe – no one is going to hurt you. You're safe."

The man's voice was low, soothing, and familiar somehow. She matched her breaths to his, trying desperately to push down her panic and ease the pain arching through her body, the repetitive monotony of his voice giving her something to focus on. When a cool hand met her forehead, she caught a whiff of fragrance. Sandalwood maybe? The smell was familiar. This was the man that had saved her.

"You're safe here. It's over." He smoothed her hair back off her forehead gently. "You need to take this potion; it'll help with your pain and fever."

The large shadow supported her body in the darkness, propping her up carefully so she might drink. A hand brought the bottle to her lips, but still in pain, she couldn't tip her head the right way to drink it and ended up almost choking. Searing agony ripped through her chest and ribs again as she coughed up the bit of fluid that had tried to make its way to her lungs.

The man cursed softly. "Easy, _ma chanson_. I'm sorry. Will you permit me to try another way? I promise I won't hurt you."

Hermione nodded weakly. She would do just about anything to make the pain stop. She watched with tear filled eyes as the deeply shadowed man put the bottle to his own lips and drank. Before she could register she should be afraid, he bent, supporting her back and cradling her neck carefully, his lips gently pressed to hers, allowing the bitter liquid to slide from his mouth into hers. She swallowed easily―one, twice, three times―small sips that were easy to handle and didn't hurt her throat.

He had stepped back as soon as the potion was gone, smoothing her hair back gently.

"Sleep now. You're safe, I promise."

The potion was quickly taking effect and her eyes began to droop. Her last glimpse had been moonlight on silver hair. He looked like a fallen angel.

Draco watched as Hermione fought the effects of the potion. He knew he needed to talk to her, but the sight of her terror and pain had made him put it off. Her immediate welfare was more important; their talk could wait until she was a bit stronger. He licked his lips, savouring the taste of her on his mouth even under the bitter taste of the potion. Closing his eyes as if in pain, he went back to his chair in the corner, not realizing the endearment he had let slip out.

Dilly brought in food periodically as he kept up the vigil at Hermione's side. He instructed her to have a thin but nourishing soup kept ready for when Hermione woke. Kreacher had returned at one point and was stationed at the foot of her bed, silent, immovable and watchful. Draco imagined he looked something like a gargoyle the way he sat so still between Hermione's bed and the door, an ugly little sentinel dressed in a blue pillowcase.

As the sun rose, Hermione's breathing changed and Draco guessed that she was waking up. He watched her from deep in the shadows as her eyes flickered open and a single tear welled up, spilling over to trail down her cheek.

He shifted his weight so he wouldn't startle her when he spoke. "How are you feeling?"

The light coming in the window was too bright for her to see who was sitting in the shadows, but she recognized the voice. It was her rescuer, her dark angel, the one who had watched over her and fed her potions from his own mouth. Where was she? "Sore, but better. Y-you," Her voice broke and she swallowed trying alleviate the dryness of her throat. She tried again. "You were the one who saved me. Who are you? Where am I?" She weakly pulled the bedclothes closer to her defensively.

"All in good time," Draco deflected. He waved his hand and a glass of water with a straw floated close enough that she could easily take a drink without having to move.

She sipped the water gratefully as silence filled the room in the wake of his refusal. When she pulled back the water floated back to the side table.

Her body was aching and she knew from her memories she had been badly beaten.

"What are my... Am I…?" She couldn't finish the questions for fear of hearing the answers. Her whole body hurt too much for there not to be some kind of permanent damage.

"Both your legs were broken, as well as one of your arms, a wrist, and numerous other bones throughout your body. You took a rather nasty blow to the head, but nothing that won't heal soon enough. Your legs will probably ache for a few days and have lingering soreness for a while. Unfortunately, your left hand suffered irreparable damage to the bones and tendons; it's likely you will only have limited use of it for the rest of your life." He said the last softly as if apologising for it.

Hermione looked down at her left hand and was surprised to see that it looked perfectly normal, if a little swollen, but when she went to flex her fingers they could only move very slowly and had no strength. She couldn't even make a fist.

"My head and my hand; he did it on purpose," she murmured, almost to herself.

"Most likely. I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You saved me. I would be dead right now if it weren't for you," she said honestly.

"Oh, my dear Miss Granger, you would be so much worse off than dead right now, I can assure you. Had I not found you, you would have been wishing you were dead for many, many years to come."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, afraid of the answer.

"The Death Eaters are taking slaves, Muggle-born and half-blood pets for them to play with and torture. They mark their property with a brand: a black 'M' just like the one you now have on your left shoulder." An elegant hand gestured towards her shoulder. "I got there just as he was about to disapparate somewhere with you."

Hermione looked down and was horrified to see the truth of his words on the cleft of her left shoulder, higher than her heart but below her collar bone.

"Slave," The word fell from her lips in a horrified whisper.

She looked up trying to see his face. "W-who are you? How do you know so much about the Death Eaters?" She was starting to fear her initial trust may have been misplaced. Someone who knew so much about the Dark Court had to be a part of the inner circle. Despite her best efforts, her body betrayed her and she began to tremble slightly.

Her rising nervousness was evident. Draco kept his voice low and even as not to scare her further. "I'm a spy for the Ministry. Very few people know of my existence, exactly four as a matter of fact, and now you. So you will excuse me if I don't reveal my identity just yet. It is my very personal goal to see every one of the Death Eaters either dead or in Azkaban, and too many people knowing about me would compromise that goal."

Draco could see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to figure out his identity. She was obviously doubtful.

"I wasn't aware that the Ministry had a spy in the Death Eaters. Does Harry Potter know about you?" she asked.

"He's one of my contacts as a matter of fact. Don't feel badly that he never told you. He couldn't. Unbreakable Vow," he explained unapologetic.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" She tried to sound challenging but in her nervousness it came out accusatory.

Draco was pleased that her brain was working well enough to be suspicious. "Your Mr. Potter will be back soon. He left after the Healer did to arrange an alternate safe house for you. Personally, I think you should stay here. You and your brilliant brain could be quite valuable in assisting me in finding out where the slaves are being kept, but Saint Potter seems to feel you won't be up to it. And there _is _the matter of your guard," he said.

"My guard?" Hermione asked confused.

A very ugly head appeared at the side of her bed. "Kreacher is glad you is feeling better, Miss Granger."

Hermione was overwhelmed with relief at the sight of the hideous little House Elf. His presence served to confirm her rescuer's story. "Oh, Kreacher! Am I glad to see you! And haven't I told you to call me Hermione?"

"Yes, Miss. Granger. If you is not minding, Miss, Kreacher will be telling Master Potter that you is awake."

"Yes, please, Kreacher." She stopped to take in the elf's overall appearance. "Wait – Kreacher, why are all you covered in soot?"

"Death Eaters burned down Miss. Granger's house, Miss. Kreacher tried to save a few of Miss. Granger's things, but the fire was too hot. Kreacher is sorry for his failure, Miss." Kreacher's ears drooped and Hermione knew he would punish himself if she didn't do something.

Tears burned her eyes at the thought of the loss of her house. "It's alright, Kreacher. I'm glad you weren't hurt. I didn't lose anything that can't be replaced." But that was a lie. The only pictures she had left of her parents had been in that house, and they could never be replaced. Choking back tears, she paused, afraid to ask her next question. "Do you know...were you able to save Crookshanks for me?"

"Kreacher is sorry, Miss. Kreacher couldn't find Miss. Granger's cat." The poor House Elf looked like he might cry at the thought of failing Hermione.

"Oh. Alright, Kreacher. Thank you. You had better go and let Harry know I'm alright." She collapsed deeper into the bed, tears running down her cheeks as she mourned her faithful cat and the mementos of her life with her family.

After a loud pop, Kreacher was gone.

With Herculean effort, Hermione pushed aside her grief and looked at her unknown saviour, watched as he settled himself further into the chair. He would have to leave soon if he didn't want her to guess who he was. Not only was the sun's position changing and slowly making it easier to see, but the longer they talked the more clues she was picking up as to his identity.

Draco took in her grief stricken face and hated that his questions couldn't wait.

"I would like to ask a few questions if you don't mind." At her nod he continued. "Why did you tell me that you were set up? What makes you think that the Ministry isn't safe?" he asked.

She thought back through foggy memories. "I was supposed to stay late and coordinate a planning session for a raid on an alleged Death Eater hide out, but I received an owl from Harry saying he had some information for me and to meet him at his house. I told my assistant I had to run out but that they should continue without me. I only made it to the apparition point when I was grabbed. I realized the owl couldn't have been from Harry at all. I never miss a meeting unless there is an emergency. I was set up."

"Besides your assistant, how many people were supposed to be at that meeting with you?"

Hermione mentally counted. "Almost twenty. I run the Auror Office when Harry is away. There should have been about eighteen people there, not counting the various assistants and administrative staff."

Draco cursed. It was too many to pinpoint a likely suspect. "So there's a mole in the Ministry."

"We suspected that there might be. More and more Muggle-borns have been disappearing lately, but what we didn't know was how the Death Eaters have been finding out whom and where they are. This explains it; the mole is in our department," Hermione said angrily.

"I suspect that taking you would have been their way of sending a message to the wizarding world. If Hermione Granger, the smartest witch of the age and famous Muggle-born friend of Harry Potter, can be taken, then no one is safe," Draco stated, trying to keep the anger from his voice.

"You said I could be valuable to you if I stayed here. How can I help you? What would I have to do?" Hermione asked. She was starting to have her own suspicions about his identity but didn't want to jump to any conclusions just yet.

Draco inwardly smiled. "The Dark Court believes I am loyal to their cause and I supply them with the things they need, in addition to gathering information on the Ministry for them. They think it's hilarious that everyone believes me to be a Death Eater turned Muggle lover, that the world sees me as someone who has 'seen the light' and renounced all my evil ties. I have access to the senior members, and they trust me enough that I am able to gather information that I can pass on to Potter and a few others. When I can, the supplies I deliver to the Dark Court contain tracers or other such things as to make it easier for Potter and his Aurors to raid and arrest a few at a time."

He checked to see if she was following him so far. She nodded and he continued, "The only area I have no access to is the slave trade. Because I have no slave of my own, they don't think to include me in that area of their operations. Thus far, I have been unable to find out the location of the slaves or how the Death Eaters are finding the people they capture. Which is where you come in. You pose as my girlfriend to the wizarding world but to the Dark Court you are my slave under the Imperious Curse. I will gain new respect for having obtained such a high profile slave, and therefore access to places I previously had no reason to go."

"How can I be sure that I won't be tortured and killed along with the others?" she asked.

"Simple really, you'll be my property. You're already branded and as much as it pains me to admit, it will prove my ownership. We will publicly announce our relationship, making it impossible for them to take you from me, to be kept somewhere else. Everyone knows I don't share well, and as long as you act as if you are under my control, then you will be perfectly safe. However, if you go into hiding as Potter clearly wants you to, you'll be hunted. You're a liability now. You know there's a mole at the Ministry, and they'll know you got away. They'll hunt you down using anyone you love to force you to come out of hiding so they can kill you. Publicly―if they can manage it."

He was right. As repulsed as she was at the thought, it was a really good plan. Dangerous, but good. She thought for a long minute. "I won't agree to anything until I speak to Harry face to face. And, I want to know who you are first." Her stomach was churning with her suspicions. He had given too much away as they had talked and Hermione wasn't looking forward to spending so much time with him if her suspicions proved to be correct. Everything pointed to one person but at the same time those same things made it impossible.

Just then there was a knock at the door and a small house elf came in. "Mr. Potter is back, Master."

"Thank you, Dilly. Show him in."

Minutes later Harry strode in the room and knelt at Hermione's bedside. "Merlin, it's good to see you with your eyes open 'Mione! I was terrified when I got the Patronus to tell me you were hurt! How are you? Are you feeling better? Do you feel up to a bit of travel? We really do need to get you somewhere safe."

Hermione chuckled with relieved tears in her eyes and then let out a pained grimace as her ribs protested. "Slow down, Harry. I'm alright. Well, not alright but as good as can be expected under the circumstances. And as for going somewhere safe, I think I'm safe enough right where I am." She paused to search his face, hating the worry written on it. She squeezed his hands with her good one. "I want to help, Harry," she finished quietly.

"NO! No. No. No! Just...NO!" Harry was shaking his head violently. "You've already been through enough. I won't put you in the line of fire again, 'Mione."

"It's my job, Harry. Besides, the plan sounds rather good to me. Better that than just sitting around hiding and making my friends targets in my place," she said softly.

"What has that ferret been telling you?!" Harry practically yelled.

At the epithet, Hermione immediately knew the identity of her midnight saviour.

"Only the truth, Potter," Draco said, deciding to reveal himself. He had been sitting in corner using the now bright sunlight streaming through the windows and the last shadows of the room between the door and the window to conceal himself.

As he stood and stepped into the light, he watched as Hermione took in a deep breath, and her eyes widened slightly. She was surprised but not angry or afraid. Good.

Hermione was surprised. She had wondered if it was him, but the thought of the tenderness he had shown her last night had made her mentally discard the idea. He had given several unintentional clues as to his identity but she was floored that Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prince and childhood bully, would save her—let alone feed her potions from his own lips. Well at least she didn't have to worry about being poisoned. Circe's wand! It was going to be like being at Hogwarts all over again!

"Malfoy has been telling me of his efforts to assist the Ministry in stopping the Death Eaters, Harry, specifically what my part in it would be. And I have to say I think it's a really good plan," Hermione said honestly.

"Malfoy, can you give us a minute? I'd like to have a word with Hermione…alone." Harry bit out between clenched teeth.

Surprisingly Draco looked at Hermione for reassurance. She nodded and he left the room quietly.

Harry rounded on her the minute the door was closed. "HAVE YOU LOST YOUR BLOODY MIND?! This is MALFOY you're talking about! You'd be living with DRACO MALFOY! Posing as his GIRLFRIEND! Pretending to be his SLAVE!"

"Harry, calm down please and listen. I think―"

"NO! I. Will. Not. Calm. Down! This is INSANE! You've already been tortured, beaten, and raped at the hands of these people! I can't watch you put yourself in harm's way again! I can't! I WON'T!" His face was stricken as he looked at her pleadingly, tears in his eyes. He knelt at the side of the bed, begging her to agree. "I can't lose you, Hermione! You're my family! Please don't ask me to watch you do this. Please."

Hermione watched her best friend, no her brother, beg her to save herself, to walk away and let him try to protect her. He had always tried to protect her; sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. But when she had gone into danger before, it had been with him beside her, right there between her and the big bad ugly. The two of them had _always_ had each other's backs. This would be the first time that she went into danger alone. But how could she walk away when so many others were suffering everything she had endured every day? And she wouldn't be alone.

"I only have one question for you, Harry. Do you trust Draco Malfoy?" It was a question that Hermione had never expected to ever ask her best friend and brother. If someone would have asked either of them that question just two short years ago, they would have said, 'No'. Actually it would have been a lot of laughing followed by a 'Hell No!' and probably a jinx or two.

But now things were different. Something had changed. Harry knew things about Malfoy that she didn't, things that evidently allowed Harry to trust him for the past two years, things obviously important enough he would keep their association and the work Draco was doing a secret from even her. She wished she knew what those things were, but depending on the conditions of the Unbreakable Vow, she would never know unless Draco himself told her. If Harry said that he trusted Malfoy then she would stay; if his answer was no, she wouldn't hesitate to leave.

Harry hung his head. "Yes."

Hermione took in a deep breath, mentally shoring up the tattered remains of her personal strength. She painfully reached out to cup Harry's cheek and raise his head to look at her. "Then let me do this. It sounds like the chance we need to stop all of this once and for all. I promise I will do everything I can to stay safe and to help Malfoy get the information we need. But, Harry, you can't expect me to walk away from this. I need to do this," she said, her voice breaking at the end. She had to do this. She wouldn't let them break her, dammit! She wouldn't… Losing the battle, she started to cry.

"'Mione," Harry carefully climbed into the bed and pulled her into his arms as she cried. "Why do you always have to be so damned selfless."

Since the day he had met her, she had been his constant support even when at times he hadn't wanted it. Too often she had gotten hurt and every time it had hurt him by extension. Then there were the times she had gotten hurt in the normal course of life, sometimes physically but more often emotionally.

He remembered finding her on the stairs crying after a Gryffindor–Slytherin game they had won, and Ron and Lavender had snogged in front of the entire common room. Her heart had been broken then.

Too many times, Malfoy, showing off in front of his pals, had said or done something that had hurt her feelings. She had tried to be strong but Harry had brushed her tears away reassuring her that the git wasn't worth it.

He had seen her with her body broken before. The basilisk attack, the fight at the Ministry when she had been hit by Dolohov's curse, even torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange hadn't been able to break her. Each time she had picked herself up, dusted herself off, and carried on. But this time, it was her spirit that was broken, and Harry worried that it might be unfixable.

"He hurt me, Harry. He...he..." she sobbed.

"I know 'Mione, I know. I'm so sorry I wasn't there. I'm so sorry this happened." Harry wanted to make it better, to wave his wand and turn back time, but that wasn't a power he had. "I really wish that we hadn't accidentally destroyed all the time-turners all those years ago."

She choked out a laugh. "Yeah, me too." She took in a deep painful breath. He smelled just like he always did: clean laundry and broomstick polish. He smelled like home. She tried to relax into his arms, tried to tell herself that for the moment she was safe. But a primitive part of her was screaming in terror. She felt caged and her skin was prickling like something was crawling underneath it.

Harry, feeling her slight resistance, dropped his arms. He was glad when she didn't move away from him. After everything she had been through, he knew her reaction had been mild and very normal, but it worried him. "Are you going to be okay? With Malfoy I mean." Harry asked quietly. He was worried about leaving Hermione with him so soon after everything that had happened. She hadn't even begun to deal with the trauma of it all, and now she was going to be living with the biggest git in all of Slytherin.

She thought about the tenderness he had shown her through the night. "Actually, I think I am," she said carefully, thinking she would at least have the time and close proximity to assess the changes she suspected in his character. If he hadn't truly changed at all and was only working with Harry as some kind of personal vendetta against the Death Eaters then she would be in the perfect position to further the goals of their mission. And if he had changed, she would get to know a whole new side of the man who, as a boy, had tried so hard to make her hate him. Tried and failed.

Harry kissed the top of her head. "I guess I should go and talk to him then. We don't have much time to set this up, and I want it to go off without a hitch."

Hermione nodded. "Can you send that nice little elf Dilly in? I think I might need her help to the loo," she asked with a blush.

"Of course. And Kreacher will be staying with you..." he held up a hand to silence the coming protest, "...no arguments, 'Mione. I know you don't like that I still own him but he_ will_ be doing this."

Hermione nodded. "Alright, Harry. To be honest, I think it will make me feel a bit better anyway."

"Oh!" Harry snapped his fingers in remembrance. "I almost forgot." He reached into his cloak and pulled out her wand.

"Harry! I thought it was gone for good! Where did you find this?" Hermione cradled her vine and dragon heartstring wand to her chest, feeling like she had been given back a lost arm. She had managed to recover it after the war when it was found in a vault at the Ministry for Magic. Dozens of wands were recovered that had been confiscated by the Snatchers during the brief reign of the Death Eaters.

"Kingsley found it underneath the Death Eater he picked up in the park. I knew you wouldn't feel right without it," he said with a smile.

"Thank you." For the first time since she was attacked, Hermione felt a little bit more in control.

Harry left the room to find Draco leaning against the wall in the hallway. Harry levelled a deadly look at him. "I am only going to say this once, Malfoy. If anything, I mean, ANYTHING happens to Hermione, I will kill you."

Draco rolled his eyes, "You're so dramatic, Potter. Nothing is going to happen to your little girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend – she's my **sister,** and we only have each other. I'm not kidding, Malfoy; they won't **ever** find your body," Harry said, looking steadily into Draco's eyes.

Draco considered Harry for a long moment. He had never seen the wizard in front of him look so serious or upset. And what was this _family_ business? He knew Potter was an orphan, but last he had heard, Hermione's parents were still alive. Over the years, Draco had seen the two of them at various charity functions, and they had always come together. He had assumed they were a couple after their respective splits from the Weasley siblings. Apparently, he had assumed wrong.

"I promise, Potter, I'll make sure nothing happens to Granger. Contrary to popular belief, I don't hate her—or you. The red-headed weasel though..."

**CT**

Two days later it was done. Harry had done an interview with the Daily Prophet addressing the concerns over a top level Ministry employee, one Hermione Granger, and the arson of her home. The public was assured that Deputy Commissioner Granger was able to escape with non-life threatening injuries and was recovering at the home of her boyfriend, Draco Malfoy.

The owls descended on her only minutes later as she recovered still in bed. She hadn't thought about the reaction from the Weasleys, not to mention Malfoy's fan club. She received no less than six howlers in the first half hour from women claiming that she wasn't good enough for someone like Draco Malfoy, and one from Ron, which was incredible considering he was still in Germany looking for Death Eaters. Malfoy had had any further owls stopped at the gates, stating the uproar gave him a headache.

Hermione hadn't seen him since her decision to stay here two days ago. After their meeting with Harry, Malfoy told her to make herself at home and that the House Elves would see to anything she needed. She knew he was doing his part because every day there was some snippet in the paper about him.

At the Orphan's Association Benefit he was asked about the rumours of their relationship to which Draco replied that he was, "lucky to have earned the attentions of such a talented and beautiful witch."

At the opening of at the new veteran's wing at St. Mungo's, he was quoted as saying he was, "enjoying the opportunity to spoil her while she's recovering."

On the morning of day three, she was finally feeling well enough to venture downstairs for breakfast. Kreacher held onto her arm, steadying her as she carefully made her way down the stairs. Her legs were still feeling unsteady after healing from their breaks, and her body was aching all over. When she walked into the dining room she was surprised to see Draco sitting at the table.

"Good morning. Feeling better?" he asked, looking out from behind his newspaper.

"Umm...yes, thank you."

Two House Elves ran forward to pull out the seat to Draco's right. She thanked them when they helped her with her chair.

After she had been dished up with an egg, toast, and sausages, Draco poured her a cup of coffee and added two teaspoons of sugar without needing to ask.

"Thank you." She took the cup confused as to how he knew she liked coffee in the morning instead of tea, and that she took it with two sugars. "How did you...?"

"Please, I sat across the Great Hall from you for six years; I did notice a few things. Now, I would think that you would need to get a few things from Diagon Alley," he said, changing the subject and glossing over the fact that he had been observant enough to notice and remember such a minute detail. "I thought that it would be a good first outing as a _couple_ if you're feeling up to it." Draco retreated back behind his newspaper; his tone was cold and arrogant and forcibly reminded Hermione of his father.

She considered the man concealed behind the paper barrier for a moment before turning her attention to the meal in front of her. "I would like to get some clothes and stop by Flourish and Blotts. I'll need to stop by Tri-wizard Bank first, though," she agreed as she struggled to cut her sausages. Awkwardly, because of her weak left hand, she shifted the eggs so that they sat on the toast and then frowned as she realized cutting them would be nearly impossible as well.

"You don't bank at Gringotts?" Draco asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Not since the war," Hermione answered vaguely.

Draco watched as she fiddled with her food. "Tri-wizard Bank is a Ministry run bank, brand new after the war isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," she stated, clearly refusing to elaborate.

"No need in any case. I'll be taking care of any expenses incurred today," Draco said absently as he pretended to scan the paper.

"I can't let you do that," Hermione protested, looking up from the problem that was her breakfast.

Draco looked up from the newspaper and arched an eyebrow at her. "Nonsense, there's a very good chance that we will run into several of my acquaintances, and no one will ever believe we are a couple if I allow you pay for anything."

While this was the truth, Draco tried to fight the possessive feeling he got when he thought of every stitch of clothing worn by Hermione would be provided by him.

"And no one who knows _me_ would ever believe that I would let a boyfriend pay for everything I wish to buy," Hermione said getting angry.

Draco folded his paper and set it down on the table with a small slap. "Which will convince anyone watching that you are indeed under my Imperious curse. Listen, Granger, I have spent a lot of time and effort perfecting my role. I will not have you blowing my cover, putting both our lives at risk by refusing to follow simple instructions. There are a lot of lives riding on you making everyone believe that we are together as a couple, including our own." As he ranted, he was busy cutting her breakfast into bite sized pieces.

Hermione could see his jaw flexing with the force of his anger. She hated that he had a point.

"You're right. I would like, however, to be able to pay back what you spend, so if you keep track of my expenses, I will be happy to write you a note from my account when this is all over."

Draco's eyebrow lifted and his mouth twitched as if refraining from laughing. "Agreed. Now, I've taken the liberty of having Dilly ready some of my mother's old clothes for you to wear. They may be a touch out of fashion, but they are the finest quality and won't embarrass me." She was daft if she believed he would take so much as a knut from her.

Hermione felt her irritation rising at his high-handedness but took a deep breath. "And how am I required to act while we're out?" She began to eat, entirely focused on the conversation.

"If I introduce you to someone, I would expect you to be polite but not speak unless you are spoken to. If you are asked a question, be sure to look at me and then back at them. When you answer, keep your answer short. Remember, people under the Imperious are little better than puppets. Should we run into your friends, do what you must to ensure that they do not cause a scene and that they honestly believe we are dating," he explained as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Also, it would be helpful if you would wear this necklace." He slid a velvet box across the table.

Hermione opened it to find a beautiful beaten gold torc with engraved stylized runes circling it. She ran her fingers over it and then looked up at him with a question in her eyes.

"All part of the plan. Just please wear it and concentrate on playing your part," he insisted irritably.

Hermione mentally rolled her eyes. She sincerely hoped they didn't run into any of the Weasleys. Harry had done a bit of damage control, but Merlin knew, with the exception of Mr Weasley, the whole family had quite the temper and knew nothing of Draco's work for the Ministry.

It wasn't until later, as she was preparing to go out, that it occurred to her that Draco had cut her meal up into bite sized pieces and enabled her to eat without having to admit her weakness and embarrass herself by asking for help. She wasn't entirely certain what to make of that.

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A/N: Hope you all liked this latest installment. Please leave your love or criticism in the form of a review. Reviews are tips for writers.

If you are enjoying my scribblings, feel free to join me on Facebook. I'd love to meet you all.

Also I have published my own original work of fiction. _Andromeda Rising_ is available for download or paperback from Amazon. To learn more about my original fiction visit my website at james-ramsey dot com.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Here it is. No warnings for this chapter but there is a lot of explanantion and catching up. Enjoy

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**Chapter 4**

Two hours after their argument regarding her funds found Hermione and Draco Apparating to Diagon Alley. They walked at a sedate pace to accommodate for Hermione's still healing body, Draco's face a cold mask of indifference. He was polite to people he knew, but in general was only a few degrees warmer than his father had ever been.

As they walked past Gringotts, Draco noticed an unexplainable level of aggression directed at them by the Goblins guarding the entrance. Draco found it strange as they had never looked at him that way before; the size of the Malfoy vault ensured a gracious reception whenever he visited.

"Tell me, why is it that you switched from Gringotts, arguably the most secure location in the world, to using Tri-wizard Bank, a brand new untried bank run by the Ministry of Magic?" Draco asked casually in a low voice.

He felt more than heard her sigh. "Gringotts isn't as secure as you think," she said without really answering his question

"Is that the only reason?" he pressed.

Her lips briefly pressed into a thin line in irritation. "After the war, my funds were frozen and I was denied further access to the services they offer."

"Really?" It was all Draco could do to keep his cool mask in place. What could have possibly happened for the Goblins to turn on her like that? "And why would that be?"

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" she asked, a trace of her irritation showing.

He met her gaze when she looked up and he smirked, clearly waiting.

She looked away, slightly flushed with anger. "Did you happen to hear about a dragon flying about London near the end of the war?"

Draco frowned. "Yes, actually. The Ministry had a devil of a time covering it up. And then there were protests over the apparent long term abuse it had suffered while in captivity, weren't there?"

"Yes. Charlie Weasley came back from Romania to care for it. Ended up having to put the poor thing down. He was incensed at the treatment the poor thing had been subjected to," Hermione said with heat in her voice.

"And this has something to do with you no longer banking at Gringotts?"

"Yes, well, Harry, Ron, and I used that dragon to escape from Gringotts after we broke into your Aunt's vault," she murmured her explanation so no one passing would overhear. "After the embarrassment of being broken into, on top of the damages caused by the dragon, not to mention the uproar over the barbaric cruelty Gringotts subjects the creatures used to guard the vaults to, we were told never to darken their doorstep again. Minister Shacklebolt demanded the release of our funds, however that left us with no place to bank. The Ministry, unhappy with the way the Goblins reacted during the war, as well as their unwillingness to come to an agreement over regulations and governance, lead the Ministry to open their own bank."

"Tri-wizard," Draco mumbled. "You, Potter, and Weasley. The bank is named for you," He looked down at her slightly stunned. "You used a _dragon_ to break out of a bank,"

"Flew actually. We were on the back of the dragon as it flew over London," she murmured, taking internal delight in having the imperturbable Lord Malfoy off balance for once.

Draco blinked, finding it hard to believe what she had just said. "You expect me to…_You flew on a dragon?_"

Hermione refused to answer, merely blushing and continuing to stroll along Diagon Alley.

Realizing that this was no place for this kind of discussion, he gathered himself and made sure his cool demeanour was firmly fixed on his face.

Draco had to admit Hermione was doing a credible job of acting as his girlfriend. Her spine was straight and her shoulders back, despite the pain he knew she was still feeling. Her crippled left hand rested gracefully on his arm, and he could feel the warmth of her touch through his robes. Her face carried a small smile and she politely inclined her head to anyone who greeted her.

Despite the objections he'd heard from both Weasley Sr. and Kingsley Shacklebolt, Draco intended for this ruse to work. Both Weasley and Shacklebolt had written him about their concerns about the plan, that Draco hadn't done enough publicly to support his conversion to the side of good for it to be believable. Arthur's chief concern was that the public wouldn't believe Hermione would be able to overcome their shared childhood enmity to actually date him.

Through some judicious use of galleons, the weight of his family name, as well as some good old fashioned blackmail of Rita Skeeter, the Prophet was now running a week long special report on the reconstruction efforts following the war. Every day documented past fundraisers and grand openings, new laws that were implemented to promote equality and events to support tolerance. In each pull-out section of the paper were specially selected pictures, which just happened to show both Draco and Hermione attending the same events. In some cases they had even been photographed together as a part of one group or other for promotional reasons.

Not only would it subtly remind the public that he had been, at times, instrumental in rebuilding in a post-Voldemort world, but it would publicly show that he and Hermione didn't have quite the aversion to each other that many people assumed.

Rita was handling the gossip side of things. In the wake of Harry's announcement of the attack at her house and the revelation of the new relationship between Hermione and Draco, Rita was digging up 'evidence' speculating on how long they had been keeping it secret. She was selling it as the romance of the century: a true 'love conquers all' type of story. Only time would tell if it worked in the eyes of the public and the bulk of Ministry officials Hermione worked with every day. Judging from the looks they were receiving, the propaganda was doing its job.

Their first stop was Madam Malkin's to purchase Hermione's new robes. Hermione was surprised at the care and attention he took in helping her pick out the clothes. No expense was spared and he insisted on seeing her try the majority of it on. The only hiccup was when Madam Malkin attempted to assist her in the dressing room. Hermione couldn't stop herself from recoiling from the witch's helpful touches. She had been able to contain her nervousness on the street with Dra-Malfoy there, but in the privacy of the dressing rooms, she was having a hard time reining in her new-found irrational fear of being touched.

Draco couldn't believe he was actually enjoying himself shopping for women's clothing. He had to admit that two years had really filled out Hermione's figure. He admired her curves as they were hugged by deep green, form fitting robes that came to mid-thigh, showing off shapely legs. But it was more than that. She had a maturity and self-containment that Draco so very rarely encountered in witches their age. But then the war had aged all of them. He did notice that her eyes darted around more now than he had ever seen before and that she physically retreated from the attentions of the shop owner. He inwardly frowned at the lingering effects of her attack, but she was doing a good job of hiding her aversion to being touched, and he hoped she would be able to keep it together.

Everything was going very well until the harpy arrived.

"Draco, sweetie!"

Draco heard a high nasally voice coming from behind him and mentally cringed. Pansy Parkinson was swanning through the store with single minded determination.

"Hello, Pansy," Draco greeted her coolly.

"Oh, Draco, you will never guess! I heard the most delicious gossip! Daphne Greengrass told Tracey Nettlebed, who told me that The Daily Prophet is saying that you are dating Hermione Granger! That Skeeter woman is spouting off some nonsense that you've been hiding your relationship for months. Not only that, but that she is currently living at Malfoy Manor! Can you believe it? I mean really, is there no truth in the media these days? Honestly, I know you present yourself as being reformed, but the thought of you lowering yourself to consort with a –"

Pansy's shallow tirade was interrupted by Hermione, who came out of the dressing room wearing a fabulous full length, fitted black evening gown that was gathered at her left shoulder, concealing her brand, but leaving her right arm and shoulder completely bare. The skirt was narrow and draped elegantly around her slender frame. Every step revealed a long shapely leg as the slit travelled almost to her hip. The beaten gold torc stood out brilliantly against the black of the dress and the creamy expanse of Hermione's skin.

She was looking down smoothing out the dress, but he wasn't fooled. Hermione knew exactly who was out here "Draco, darling, would you please ask Madam Malkin to get me a smaller size. This one just doesn't quite fit through the..." Her eyes finally looked up to meet his and they shifted between him and Pansy. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were speaking with someone."

The sound of his name coming from her lips for the first time was startling, and unwisely comfortable. "Come, pet." Draco held out his hand to Hermione and had to swallow as she gracefully swept forward to accept it. "You remember Pansy Parkinson, don't you? It's nice to see her again isn't it?"

Hermione looked at Draco for a moment and then back at Pansy. "Yes of course. Hello, Pansy, it's nice to see you again."

Pansy stood there gaping like a fish as she looked from Draco to Hermione and back again.

"Are you finished shopping? We have dinner reservations, and you still wanted to go to Flourish and Blotts," Draco asked turning to Hermione.

"Yes, Draco." She turned obediently and went to change into one of her new everyday outfits.

Pansy was still slack jawed as Draco added the black dress to their order and arranged for the payment and delivery of all their purchases to the Manor.

By the time he was done, Hermione emerged from the fitting room. "Say goodbye to Pansy, pet. I'm sure we'll run into her again soon," Draco instructed.

"Goodbye, Pansy. I'm sure we'll see you again soon," Hermione parroted.

"Pansy," Draco nodded and as Pansy stuttered out her goodbyes, he ushered Hermione out the door.

"Very nicely done, Granger. I'm impressed. Keep it up and we'll do just fine," he said leaning down to whisper in her ear.

Hermione shivered a bit as his surprisingly sweet breath blew over her ear and down her neck. Keeping in character she smiled a bit vacantly but was inwardly happy. She may not have enjoyed acting like a human puppet, but seeing the look on Pansy Parkinson's face had been worth it. "Thank you, Malfoy."

At Flourish and Blotts their luck ran out. They ran into Ginny and Mrs Weasley. Draco saw them before Hermione did and decided to further their charade. He had seen Pansy lurking about and knew stirring the caldron just to watch it bubble over would be something that she would expect to see him do. Draco only hoped that the Weasleys would restrain their natural tendencies towards idiocy and dramatic flares of temper for Hermione's sake.

Gently drawing Hermione to face him he leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Looks like your acting skills are about to be tested, Granger. I do hope they've improved since our days at Hogwarts."

To the casual observer it appeared to be an affectionate moment between lovers. Draco drew back and looked deeply into Hermione's eyes, slowly raised her weak left hand up to his mouth. Without breaking eye contact, he set his lips to the inside of her wrist and pressed the softest of kisses to the spot where her pulse leapt. Heat flared from the contact, streaked up her arm, and flamed over her face.

Just as her breath caught and the most beautiful blush Draco had ever seen graced her cheeks, he heard an outraged gasp. Mrs Weasley had seen them.

Hermione's lungs seized, hard. She would never have thought that such a simple touch would have such an effect on her.

"Gryffindor courage, Granger," Draco said in parting before going to look at a new line of dragon leather satchels. He figured that his presence would only aggravate an already volatile situation and leaving Hermione to her fate would ensure that Pansy carried her tales back to her current bed mate, Dolohov.

"Hermione Jean Granger!"

Hermione startled at the outraged exclamation of Mrs Weasley. She wasn't as close to the Weasleys these days as she had been. Her break-up with Ron had caused some awkwardness, but Hermione still considered them to be like family. Mrs Weasley had been a surrogate mother to her for many years and Ginny had been like a sister up until her break up with Harry. When Ginny had tried using her friendship with Hermione as a tool to get closer to Harry, Hermione had pulled back. The manipulation had been petty and not something Hermione liked to see in someone she thought she had been close to.

"Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed, running up to give her friend a hug, Mrs Weasley simply staring in shock. "We were so worried! We tried to owl you when we heard your house burned down, but they started coming back, and the papers reported that you're living with Malfoy now? Harry said it was true but how did...?"

"Ginny, slow down please. Draco and I have met at various charity functions over the years, but a few months ago we really got to talking, and I realized just how much he had changed and how much we have in common now. Coffee led to lunch and before I knew it, we started dating and..." Hermione looked over her shoulder to see Draco watching her out of the corner of his eye "...I didn't say anything because it was so new, and you know how Ron is when it comes to him." Hermione shrugged. "It just went on and kept getting better. I didn't know how to tell you all. He really has changed a lot. Even Harry says so. I mean he can still be rather aloof, and Merlin knows he's arrogant, but he treats me really well. He's really been there for me through this whole ordeal. I'm happy."

Ginny's hand was pressed to her mouth and was looking nervously between Hermione and her mother. Mrs Weasley had the most pinched and disapproving look on her face that Hermione had ever seen.

She looked at them pleadingly, but Mrs Weasley was having none of it. "I cannot believe you choose to associate with Death Eater scum! That you let such a vile man paw at you in that manner! I had hoped that this was all some sort of rubbish published by that horrible Skeeter woman but obviously not. I'm sorry, Hermione, but you have lost all of your good sense. Choosing that…that man over my Ron! Really! After the way he treated you in school and all the times you wrote me in tears? Not to mention the things that happened during the war."

"Mrs Weasley, please. Ron and I broke up years ago. I'm not choosing Dra—" Hermione tried to interrupt but Molly Weasley kept right on ranting.

"My poor Fred is dead because of people like him! That father of his was the one that gave Ginny that horrible diary and nearly killed you at the Ministry. Really! Malfoys can't change and you're mad to suggest it!" she hissed in a low voice.

Raising her voice again she continued, "Now, I don't know what's gotten in to you to spout off such nonsense, but I don't have to put up with it. You owl me when you've started to use that famous head of yours for something more than a hat rack. Come, Ginny!" She ended on a near shout and stormed off.

Ginny looked at her friend and shook her head. "I want to be happy for you, 'Mione, I really do, but it's Malfoy! His aunt tortured you in that very house! You still have the scars on your arm. I know Harry can't be happy about this either, maybe he can talk some sense into you."

Hermione was left standing alone with unshed tears in her eyes as her only real girlfriend followed the woman who had been a mother figure to her out the door. Draco came to stand at her side. "Come, Hermione, we're finished here." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Pansy with an evil smile on her face just before she Disapparated.

Hermione was doing a fantastic job of looking unaffected and anyone watching would think that the whole episode hadn't affected her at all. He knew differently. Hermione was terribly hurt and he needed to get her out of there before she did something that would raise suspicion. He led her out into the street, his arm curled protectively around her and pulled her with him as he Apparated them to the Manor. He watched as she made her way up the stairs supported by a faithful Kreacher, tears running down her face.

He gave her half an hour before knocking on her door. "Hermione?"

A sad faced Kreacher opened the door and gestured for him to enter, leaving the room quietly. She was sitting in an armchair staring out the window, tears still streaming down her face. She looked so incredibly fragile, like one wrong word from him and she would shatter like glass.

"They don't understand, Hermione. If they knew," he said softly trying to comfort her. The sight of her looking so sad caused something to twist inside him.

"They may not know what I'm doing, but they do know I'm not an idiot. We've fought side by side. I've saved their lives, and they've saved mine, but they don't trust me enough to support my decisions. They're the closest thing I have to family besides Harry. Now I'm alone." Her voice was flat, dead.

"When this is over you can explain. They'll understand,"

"No." She wiped her face, "I mean yes, they'll understand, but I know now where I stand with them. We haven't been as close as we used to be but I thought…"

Draco walked around to stand in front of her chair. "You have family. Would you like to use my owl? I'm sure your parents would be happy to hear from you—"

Hermione interrupted. "My parents are living in Australia. I erased myself from their memories and sent them there at the beginning of what would have been our seventh year at Hogwarts with all new identities. I didn't want them here while the war was going on. They could've been used against me and gotten hurt or killed. I couldn't have lived with that." Her voice was flat, emotionless as if she told herself this every day to soothe the pain of losing them.

Draco was stunned. He knew Hermione was strong, but the courage and strength it must have taken to make that decision was staggering. She had not only orphaned herself, but what she had done would have required erasing her Muggle existence entirely. She truly was a gifted witch.

"Surely now that the war is over..."

Hermione snorted. "Over? Even if that were true, not only is it still too dangerous for them, but they've moved on. I can't ever undo what I did." Her voice was tight and the last came out in a rush of pain-filled regret.

"Sure you can. You just go down there and reverse the spell." Really, he didn't see what the problem was. It would be difficult yes, but not impossible, certainly not harder than it had been to erase herself in the first place, especially for a witch of Hermione's obvious talent.

She shook her head, the tears falling more rapidly now. "No, I can't." She wiped the tears from her face with shaking hands. "I went down there after the battle at Hogwarts, we all thought the war was over. Mum was holding a newborn baby in a little pink blanket when I knocked on the door. She glowed when I commented on how beautiful she was. Mum..." Hermione choked back a cry "...Mum introduced her new baby girl—Hermione. Then she apologised to me, the stranger at the door, and asked why I was calling."

She laughed to cover a sob. "Even not knowing their real identities, they replaced me. They're so happy; I couldn't take that away from them. Not now, not when they would still be in so much danger just for being my parents." She shook her head. "My mum would feel so guilty if I reversed it, and she realized she replaced me, that she forgot me entirely in the first place, regardless of the strength of the magic involved. No, I made the decision to put their safety first, knowing that I may never see them again. At least now I know how happy they are."

Draco looked at the heartbroken and still healing woman in front of him. If only the bigoted purebloods could only see what he did now. She had more strength and purity in her little finger than ninety-nine percent of the purebloods he knew. That kind of selflessness was as rare as the Demiguise used to make invisibility cloaks—and infinitely more valuable.

Tenderly he brushed the few remaining tears from her cheeks. "You're not alone. You have Harry and you have me."

Draco straightened, shocked that he had said so much. He walked through their adjoining bath and into his bedroom, shutting the door.

That night was the first night he heard Hermione's cries in the dark. Her nightmares had returned to haunt her. Draco sat on the cold floor of the bathroom with his back to her bedroom door. His fists clenched, he forced himself to stay where he was. Getting closer to Hermione Granger would only get her killed.

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A/N: I wanna hear your thoughts on this one! Reviews are tips for writers and I've twisted this 'verse up into knots. Your ideas and views on my twist would be appreciated.

Thanks to everyone who has graciously gone out and bought my book._ Andromeda Rising_ is my first published work of original fiction and it means a lot to me that my loyal FF readers are willing to give me a chance. Check out my website james-ramsey dot com for fun facts about me and my scribblings. For those of you who have asked, here is the summary:

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_Andromeda Rising_ by _James Ramsey_

I should have been paying attention. Growing up on the run from religious fanatics gave me more than a few good reasons to be careful, but I was just too tired to be as vigilant as I should have been. My mind was occupied with my latest case—a missing nine year old girl. I was usually good at my job, but sometimes I needed a little extra help from magick. I always managed to track down a cheating spouse or the occasional runaway, but now it seemed more children were missing from the streets of Seattle and nothing I did worked.

A cat jumped on my shoulder and jerked me from my exhaustion induced stupor. I spun into a defensive crouch only to see the cat had landed on the sidewalk behind me.

Time seemed to stop for a moment when the cat _spoke_.

"**RUN!**"

My name is Jocelyn Matthews and if I live through tonight, I'll tell you all about my life as a witch.

For the past ten years, Jocelyn has been living as a closet witch in Seattle. When the Inquisitors that have been after her from the time she was nine finally manage to find her, Jocelyn is thrust into a world she never guessed existed. From talking cats to Dark Elves, she'll have to do something she's never done before: trust someone other than herself. If she wants to find the children that have been going missing all over the city, she'll have to open her eyes to the bigger picture and find her place, not only for her safety but for the city as well.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Hermione woke the next morning feeling more tired than when she went to bed. She hadn't been able to sleep for more than an hour at a stretch between the nightmares, and the aching in her legs and her hand leftover from the breaks.

She rolled over and stared out the window, taking a moment to indulge in self-pity. The war had been over for two years and yet it wasn't. Things were just as unsettled and even more unpredictable. She wondered if there would ever come a time that she wasn't worried or scared, a time where she could consider having a relationship and maybe even get married and have children.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Who would ever want her now? All her life she had been too smart, too plain, too pushy; now, damaged could be added to the list. Hermione rolled onto her back and looked at her weak left hand; she doubted that she would ever be able to make a fist again. Even trying to touch her fingertips to her thumb was difficult, and she couldn't do it with any force or speed. Gripping her wand was impossible.

Hermione slid her right hand under her pillow and pulled out her wand. Seeing a vase at the far side of the room, she gave a swish and flick of her wand and thought, 'Wingardium Leviosa'.

Nothing happened.

Taking a deep breath she centred herself. This time she whispered the spell and watched as the vase shook slightly on the table. Encouraged, she tried again and was rewarded when it slowly hovered a few inches and then slowly, she directed it to the dresser by the door. It would take time but she could do this.

A small knock at the door halted her ruminations. "Come in."

Dilly poked her head around the door. "Missy needs to get up now and get dressed. Master Draco is waiting for Missy downstairs." The little elf started to wring her hands. "Master Draco is wanting you to come."

Hermione sighed. "It's alright, Dilly. I'll be down in just a minute."

Stifling a groan, she eased out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. By the time she was finished washing up, Dilly had laid out an outfit for her. A few minutes later and she was sitting down to breakfast with Draco. She thanked Kreacher when he put her plate in front of her. The food had already been cut up, and she smiled slightly knowing that Draco had ensured that she wouldn't have to wrestle with her breakfast.

Draco frowned at a letter in his hand, his forgotten newspaper on the table.

Hermione had seen many sour expressions on his face, but this was one she hadn't seen before.

"Is everything alright?"

He took a breath and leaned back in his chair to look at her. "It appears that we played our parts well." He nodded to the parchment on the table. "That is an invitation for me to attend a ball. It suggests that I bring my new _trophy_ with me."

"This is what we wanted though, right?" She looked at him wondering why he looked so…disturbed.

"Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, it's what we wanted." But his tone was unconvincing.

"So then why are you looking so unhappy?" Her mind was spinning, running through the many possibilities available.

Draco looked at the witch sitting across from him. She looked nice this morning; her face didn't show any of the trauma she had sustained only a few days ago. He didn't want to admit the real reason he was so – concerned. So he went with an alternate truth. "I'm used to working alone. I can always be sure of my own actions. Bringing in a partner complicates things and adds to the risk."

Hermione stamped down the immediate impulse to jump to the conclusion he didn't think she would be able to do it. She didn't think that was the issue, more that he had always preferred to work alone in his schemes, even at Hogwarts.

Hermione studied him for a moment, truly assessing the differences the years had wrought. He had been exceedingly good looking when they had been at school and all the girls had had a crush on him at some point. But now he was a stunningly handsome man. He was tall, broad shouldered and his years of Quiddich had toned his body to perfection; his muscled chest and arms barely contained by his black dress shirt. His storm grey eyes were piercing and the perfect accent to his thick hair that had darkened slightly to a honey blond that more closely resembled his mother's.

There seemed to be a barely leashed tension about him now, as if he was a coiled spring waiting for the slightest trigger to be released. And yet he was perfectly controlled. He had been nothing but hateful to her when they had been at Hogwarts; doing his best work in front of witnesses. She frowned at the thought. Something else to think about.

In the past two years, she had seen him across crowded ball rooms at various charity functions and government banquets, always giving her a polite nod and occasionally a cool, "Granger". He had freely given to many charities and sponsored businesses owned and operated by half-breeds and muggle-borns alike. Come to think of it, Hermione hadn't heard one bad word about him from Harry in years, certainly not since the end of the war. When others like Ron or Mrs Weasley had gone on a rant about him, Harry had simply kept silent and had even occasionally defended him. Since he had saved her, Draco hadn't said a bad word to her, and in fact, had been very supportive and – caring? Draco Malfoy hadn't had a taunt, slur, dirty look, or foul name for her since their sixth year at Hogwarts, not even when she had been imprisoned at the Manor. There was much more to Draco Malfoy than she had ever thought.

"I know we've never been friends and our history doesn't exactly promote trust, but in the last few days you have earned mine. Saving me put you at considerable risk, and regardless of the story that we've spun for Harry, we both know this is not going to be easy." Hermione took a deep breath, "There is every chance that I could get hurt or even killed with this plan."

Draco's eyes hardened and he opened his mouth as if to interrupt, but Hermione held up her hand. "But if I am going to take this kind of risk, there is no one I would rather have at my back than a sneaky, manipulative, lying Slytherin: The Slytherin Prince and the man who saved me from a fate worse than death," she said with complete honesty and a hint of amusement.

Draco was struck by the honesty in her gaze, and as much as he wanted to acknowledge the feelings it caused within him, he deflected. "Not your precious Potter?"

Hermione chuckled. "I love Harry but he's about as subtle as a falling dragon. Gryffindors as a rule don't lie very well. That's why Harry's an Auror and not a member of the Covert Operations team."

Draco smirked slightly to acknowledge that she was right but then refocused on her. "You're putting a lot of faith in someone whom, up until the last few days, treated you as less than filth. What makes you think you can trust me? How do you know I'm not actually spying for the Dark Court? My family has a long history with the dark side of magic. One act of mercy shouldn't be enough to redeem me in your eyes."

It was Hermione's turn to smirk. "Ah, but I've been living with you for several days now. I've gotten a whole new insight to Draco Malfoy."

"You don't say? Enlighten me."

Hermione leaned back in her chair, visibly making herself more comfortable. "Let's start with the war shall we? During the riot at the Quiddich World Cup, you told Harry and Ron to get me to safety. Ron insists that you were being a prat, but Harry and I both believed that you actually didn't want me to get hurt." She watched as he stilled becoming wary. "Then during our sixth year, I saw you were struggling with a decision. Harry came up with the idea that Voldemort had given you a task. I didn't want to believe it at first, but after watching you for most of the year, it was obvious Harry was right. After your father's failure at the Ministry, I knew your mother was most likely being used as leverage by Voldemort, forcing you to do something you didn't want to do. You lowered your wand and chose not to kill Dumbledore." His eyes gave the barest hint of a flinch that has she not been watching so closely, would have been easy to miss.

"Then there was my capture and subsequent torture here. You could have easily identified me, us, and watched us die. Your family would have been Voldemort's favourites had you simply handed us over. But you didn't. Instead you chose to plead ignorance and, despite the torture, it gave me the chance to escape with my friends. And come to think of it, our skirmish to escape didn't showcase your best duelling skills. I've seen you fight in earnest, and you in no way put forth your best effort that day."

"I should have done more. Watching you being tortured was one of the worst moments of my life," Draco said quietly.

Hermione studied him for a moment but then continued. "Then there was the final battle itself. You tried to stop Crabbe from killing us. Your mother saved Harry when she lied to Voldemort telling him Harry was dead. Then there's the matter of your parents' deaths."

She paused to give him an apologetic look. "For all intents and purposes, it appears they died fighting Aurors in the Great Hall, but, why then, were there a large number of young students that survived unharmed when so many Death Eaters died? It should have been an easy matter for seven Death Eaters to slaughter so many first and second year children and then make their escape. Oh the files tell heroic tales of the two unknown Aurors that managed to take out all seven Death Eaters and save the children, but I don't buy it. If it had been that easy to take out dark wizards, then Voldemort's army would never have been a threat in the first place."

Draco froze, praying that his body did nothing to give away the true events that happened that day.

Hermione gave him a knowing look. "Which brings us to our present situation. I've been living here for several days now, and not once have you had a harsh word or unreasonable request of your House Elves. You treat Kreacher with respect and have been nothing but kind to me. Even when someone is pretending, their façade slips occasionally. No one can keep up appearances every hour of every day. Your House Elves don't fear you as they would if you were only keeping up an act for my sake." Her eyes softened. "You could have walked away and left me in that park. Or you could have saved me and left me on the steps of St Mungo's despite my ramblings. You could have pressed a port key into my hand and sent me to the Weasley's. You should have been eager to have Harry relieve you of my presence. But you didn't."

She let her words sink in for a long moment. "Any single one of these things could be taken as the act of a man who was manipulating the people around him for his own gains. But, when you look at the whole picture and know many of these facts, which very few people do, then it is fairly obvious that you are not the person you present to the world."

"If any of that information got out," Draco ground out.

"You would be killed, but not before they made you pay for turning traitor," Hermione finished.

Draco nodded gravely.

"So, when do we leave and how do you need me to act? What do you need me to do?" Hermione asked breaking the tension. "I am literally at your mercy," she laughingly pretended to half bow-down to him with exaggerated theatrics.

Draco's mouth twitched, his mood lightening. It was obvious that she had no intention of revealing anything to anyone. Only she, with her brilliant mind, could have seen so much and drawn the necessary conclusions. Only she had been able to see past the flawless façade he and his family had so carefully constructed when Voldemort himself had not. "You mean you aren't going to tell me what the plan is? Know-it-all Granger isn't going to charge in and take control of the situation?" he said mockingly.

Hermione picked up the discarded Prophet and whacked him on the arm with it playfully.

"Did you just..." Draco sputtered incredulously. "You just hit me with a newspaper!" He swore he heard a very unladylike snort coming from his mother's likeness in a painting somewhere behind him.

Hermione rolled her eyes and stifled a chuckle at the look on his face. "You're the Death Eater turncoat; you're the one who has the most information on the situation. I would be a fool not to take advantage of your years of experience with these people. And whatever has been said of me in the past, I have _never_ been called a fool." She arched an eyebrow at the last, daring him to contradict her.

Draco chuckled. "No, you have never been a fool." Taking the newspaper, he moved it safely out of her reach. "So, we'll be leaving to travel by Portkey to an undisclosed location at eight tonight." His expression hardened. "Tonight will be new territory for both of us, so I need you to put your legendary intelligence to good use and be aware of any subtle clues I'm sending you. I've seen some of the slaves, so I will have Dilly deliver an outfit to you. Tonight is not about action; it's about reconnaissance. We go in, we observe, and then we'll come back here to analyse what we know."

Hermione wore a worried frown now. This was so much worse than anything she and Harry had ever done, except maybe for the time they infiltrated the Ministry to get the locket from Umbridge. Before that, they had always had the element of surprise on their side and trustworthy friends at their back. This time it would only be her and Draco, literally walking into the dragon's den. They had no idea where they were going or what to expect when they got there. No one would be waiting to back them up; no one would know where they were. How had Draco lived like this for so many years? Since his parents' death, he had had no one to trust. The question was, why was he willing to trust her?

Their discussion had lasted well into the afternoon and she was startled out of her reverie by the clock chiming the second hour.

"You should rest. Tonight is going to be exhausting, and you're still recovering your strength." Draco suggested, his gaze soft.

Hermione nodded and rose to make her way to her room. Her head was spinning with all the possibilities. She knew she would most likely see people she knew tonight. She also knew that she would have to pretend to be oblivious and under Draco's Imperious curse. She would have to turn her back on her friends, however temporarily, in order to provide for the greater good. As she fell into bed, she wished for the strength to do what was necessary to get them through this mission.

A rumbling purr roused Hermione from her slumber and for a moment she was back in her own house, snuggled in her own bed with Crookshanks, and none of the events of the past week had happened. She went to stretch and the pain in her left hand caused her eyes to shoot open; they connected with the familiar squashed-in face of her ginger cat.

"Crookshanks!" Hermione scooped him up in her arms as he purred happily into her chest.

"He showed up at the backdoor about an hour ago. I have no idea how he got here, much less on the grounds, but I realized he was looking for you. How did he know to look for you here?" Draco's voice came from his usual chair in the corner of her room, and it didn't seem strange to either of them that he was sitting in her room watching over her while she slept.

"Crookshanks is half Kneazle, and even for his kind he is extremely intelligent, but I have no idea how he does it. He did the same thing after the war. I hadn't seen him the entire time I was off hunting Horcruxes with Harry and Ron, and he never looked for me. No one had seen him for over a year, then he showed up at Hogwarts three days after the final battle," she explained as she snuggled the ugly cat to her chest. "Did he scratch you? Did you have a hard time catching him?"

Draco frowned. "No, I opened the door and he walked in like he owned the place. Once I recognized him, I told him you were here. I half expected him to take off into the house, but when I sat down at my desk, he jumped up on it and sat down where he proceeded to stare at me for the next quarter hour. I finally told him I would escort him to you to end the absurd staring contest."

"Really?" Hermione looked shocked.

"Is that unusual?" Draco asked.

"It just means I was right to trust you." At Draco's questioning look she continued. "The first time Crookshanks met Ron he attacked him, recognizing Peter Pettigrew as a rat hiding in Ron's pocket. He knew Sirius Black even when he was in his animal form. In each case, he knew if the person was good or not. If he sat and studied you without doing any harm or running up here to warn me, then that means he likes you and I can trust you."

Draco wasn't sure how he felt about his character being vetted by a cat, so he changed the subject. "I brought you your – _outfit –_ for the evening."

The way he said _outfit_ told Hermione that he didn't like it any more than she was going to. She shifted Crookshanks to the side and saw the dress draped over the end of the bed. It was little more than a cotton sack, similar to what House Elves commonly wore. Clean, off white linen, it was only a small step above a burlap sack. There was a brown leather belt. The dress was strapless and would only cover her breasts by the drawstring at the top enabling everyone to see her brand clearly. It was long enough that it would hit her at just past the knee.

She looked up at him and saw the hard expression on his face. "Normally, slaves don't get clean ones and aren't permitted to wear anything underneath them. I had this one designed a few inches longer than normal with a silk lining and you _will_ wear knickers."

She should have been embarrassed about his casual reference to her knickers, but she was too interested in the anger in his voice. "Why would you do that? Surely it's unwise to treat me any better than any of the other slaves, especially considering I should be treated the worst due to my…status. They'll be expecting me to be in rags and beaten, barely covered. How are you going to get away with my attire being better than the other's?"

His brow furrowed further. Yes he knew what they would be expecting, far better than Hermione could imagine. "Your outfit will be the least of our worries. They'll be expecting to be able to beat you, rape you, and pass you around as the night's entertainment, selling you to the highest bidder at the end of it all." At her gasp his eyes met hers. "I **will** **not** allow that to happen. However, I am going to have to say and do some things that will shock you and test the trust you say you have in me, things that may make you hate me. Everything I do will be to ensure we get out of there in one piece."

Hermione started to shake, her breaths getting short. Crookshanks purred louder trying to soothe his distressed mistress. "W-will you f-force yourself on m-me?" she asked quietly, head down and tears filling her eyes.

"**NO.**" Draco took a breath to calm himself, furious and horrified that she might think him capable of that. "Hermione, no." He stood slowly and moved to sit on the bed beside her. He could see the tears glinting in her eyes even though her head was lowered. He reached out and used a finger to tip her face up so he could look in her eyes. "I promise, nothing they say or do will make that necessary. I won't do that to you. All this..." he gestured to the slave dress and the belt "...and the things I will be forced to do and say tonight are to keep us safe and further the mission. But I **will not** allow anything to happen to you. I won't let anyone hurt you. Do as I say and everything will be fine, I promise. I would never do anything to hurt you."

His thumb caressed her chin gently as he watched a single tear overflow and fall from her eyes. "Do you believe me?" He caught the tear with his finger and brushed it from her cheek.

She nodded and struggled to pull back the fear that was choking her.

"There is one more accessory that I have decided to add to the ensemble. The others don't wear them, but I think it will be the humiliation that the Death Eaters will be looking for." Draco reached under the dress and pulled out a leather collar, his words coming quicker and sounding more disgusted. "I don't like this any more than you do, and I would never ask you to wear it, but I think it will support my role and keep me from having to prove my loyalty with drastic measures. I hate—"

Hermione stopped his rambling explanation with a hand on his arm. "It's alright, Draco. I understand the reason. To them, it will mean ownership, humiliation, and degradation. We can look at it differently. To us, it's a physical reminder of your protection." She waved towards her nightstand and the beaten gold necklace that sat on it, "That's what the torc was all about yesterday wasn't it? You wanted me to be seen with it on in public."

He nodded. "And it worked perfectly. Running into Pansy, and your brilliant acting skills, both in Madam Malkin's and during the confrontation with the Weasleys, ensured our invitation. Pansy is a member of the new Dark Court and is Dolohov's current whore. The torc will support the lie I'll be feeding them tonight."

"You could've told me. I would have understood," she said.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and swore, "I hated making you wear it, hated the image that it represents. I—"

"Draco, stop. The collar and the torc are your way of protecting me. I will wear them and be glad that you're willing to go to such lengths to help me and others like me." She reached out and picked up the collar, handing it to him. "Help me?"

He shook his head holding his hands out, pushing it away. "I can't. I can't put that on you,"

She pressed it into his palm. "Protect me." When he didn't look up, she shook his hand gently. "Draco..." she waited until his eyes met hers, "...protect me, please."

He looked at her for a long moment before taking the leather collar with a barely discernible tremble in his hand. Never taking her eyes from his, Hermione gathered her hair off her neck so he could buckle the collar snugly to her skin. Once it was on, she released her hair. Draco took her face in his hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead he whispered, "Only for your protection."

Then he was gone.

He had left the room so quickly, Hermione barely had time to register that he had kissed her, however innocently. Her skin tingled where his lips had pressed into her flesh, and it wasn't unpleasant. And when had she started to think of him as Draco? She had never permitted herself to think about him that way before. Not even at Hogwarts when she was one of the girls who had thought him handsome, however secret she had been about it. She was still sitting on the bed deep in contemplation when Dilly knocked softly.

"Master Draco sent Dilly up with Missy's dinner. Dilly is to help you dress, Miss." The poor little Elf looked weighed down by the large tray she was carrying.

Hermione blinked and fingered the unfamiliar weight of the leather collar before giving Crookshanks a last pat and going to sit down to the dinner Dilly had brought.

Draco had fled to the sanctity of his hidden private study. He was sitting in front of the fire with his head in his hands when he heard a sigh coming from the painting.

"Not now," he said pleadingly.

"You can't seriously be thinki—" His father's voice was cut off by his mother's.

"Quiet, Lucius. We gave up all that nonsense years ago." Draco looked up to see the painted image of his mother glaring at the image of her husband. She turned to look at him and her eyes softened. "Why didn't you tell us, son?"

"When would you suggest would have been a good time to bring it up? When I reached maturity and was dealing with my hormones and instincts? When the Dark Lord returned and started threatening our family? Maybe after he moved in with all his crazy little followers? No, Mother, there was never a good time to tell you with all the ears that were constantly looking for a reason to betray us and our struggle to keep our heritage a secret."

"This crusade you're on could mean the end of our family, Draco. While I applaud your intentions, your duty is to the family and to carry on our line." Lucius said sternly.

"If the new Court has its way, our family and others like us will be exterminated anyway. Eventually they will find out. Rodolphus has always been suspicious; if it weren't for my contributions to their efforts, he would have dug deep enough to expose us already. No, I have to stop them or our Clan will never be safe. Once they have all been eradicated, I promise, I will work on extending our line." Draco rubbed his face tiredly, dreading what was coming tonight.

It was one thing to risk his own safety, but to risk Hermione's went against every instinct he possessed.

"She's the one, isn't she? The one you sing for." Narcissa asked softly. "She's your mate."

He nodded, waiting for the outburst from his father.

It never came.

"You can't choose your mate, Draco. I'm not going to waste energy on something that is entirely instinctual," Lucius said sounding resigned.

Draco looked up at the painting of his parents, disbelief colouring his expression.

"When did it happen?" Narcissa asked him.

"I felt something from the first day I saw her, but my prejudices wouldn't let me act on it. She was everything I was taught to hate. On the train back to school, after I turned fifteen, after the Change, I caught the most amazing scent. As soon as I saw her, it was like the whole world just stopped. Then I saw her laughing with Potter and the Weasel and something ran through me. I couldn't '_see'_ anything but her: the way her face lights up when she laughs, the intelligence in her eyes, the hint of gold in her hair when the sun shines on it. I heard my soul sing like you told me yours had when you knew Mother was for you." He spoke to his father's image but gazed off into space with a small smile on his face.

The smile faded as his train of thought shifted. "But then I saw the way the Weasel was looking at her, and it was all I could do not to kill him. After that, Delores Umbridge started her vendetta against Dumbledore and her insane idea that he was using the school to build an army to go against Fudge and the Ministry.

"I joined the Inquisitorial Squad to keep an eye on things. I knew she and Potter would be up to something dangerous. I couldn't let Umbridge do something that might get Hermione killed. Things just got worse from there." Draco remembered his internal struggle as he realized the girl he had taunted for years was his mate.

There would be no way for him to ever make it up to her, no way for him to ensure her safety. No way for him to save her from herself.

Draco heard the image of his father suck in a horrified breath. "I could have killed her at the Ministry."

"Dolohov almost succeeded. I had to wait to find out if she would survive. I couldn't even ask for fear of exposing myself. Hogwarts gossip couldn't move fast enough for me that time." He sat back in the chair feeling defeated.

"She's here now, Draco," his mother said softly.

"She's here because I couldn't keep her safe. Again! She's here because the people I'm trying to stop, raped and tortured her—almost killed her! Again! She's here putting herself further into danger, and the only way to win this war is if I let her do it. Again! No matter how I try, I can't keep her from harm's way. I just put a collar on my mate. A collar!" Draco half yelled, clutching at his hair, gulping in air to try to stave off the panic building within him.

"It's a short term issue, Draco, and she sees the wisdom in it. It's a good strategy on many fronts, son. You're doing the right thing." Lucius tried to reassure his son. "The collar will throw Rodolphus off the scent, so to speak. Our kind and those like us do not tolerate restraints well; it's common knowledge. You can explain it all to her when this is over."

"You have an awful lot of confidence in me, Father," Draco said, irony lacing his voice as he looked up.

"I always have."

Draco ran his hands through his hair as he stood and started to pace. What he needed to do was run. A long run through the woods would do much to clear his mind but he was too closely watched for it to be an option.

"Breathe, son. You need to be at your best when you face the Dark Court tonight. Your uncle will be looking for a weakness. Is Hermione prepared?" Narcissa asked.

Draco sighed. "She thinks she is. She's still so fragile from the attack; I'm worried about how she'll handle the rough treatment tonight. She isn't comfortable in crowds or with being touched. I can probably protect her from physical harm, but the emotions of seeing her friends enslaved and their likely pleas for help, may be more than she can handle. Plus those damned Gryffindors have always been a touchy feely bunch. She's going to have a rough night, and I can't protect her from it."

"Have faith in your mate, Draco. Our mates are always stronger than we ever have a right to expect them to be." With that sage wisdom from his father, he heard them leave the painting, likely keeping an eye on Hermione. He was left alone to try to prepare himself for the horrors of the evening to come.

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A/N: More clues to the puzzle and some major revelations. As usual I would love to hear your thoughts. I'm actually beginning to wonder if anyone is reading this at all...


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This chapter contains graphic references to violence and slavery. The Dark Court is not a nice place so this chapter may not be for everyone.

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Chapter 6

At half seven, Draco watched as Kreacher led Hermione into the front parlour. His shame hit him like a bludger when he saw her dressed as a slave. Sure the fabric was clean and in good repair, and the details of her body were hidden by the silk lining, but the brand marring her creamy flesh was clearly on display. She had braided her long hair into a single plait down her back to easily showcase it. Add the thick leather collar, and Draco involuntarily let out a snarl.

He calmed himself when she jumped and flinched away from him. He approached her slowly, head down and shoulder first holding out a hand to her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I don't like seeing you like this."

"It's necessary to the mission." She relaxed somewhat, only slightly trembling, and took his hand, squeezing his fingers. "How do I need to act?"

He sighed deeply and gently squeezed her hands drawing her closer, avoiding looking at the collar. "The same as you did in Diagon Alley, but more subservient. You're a slave under the Imperious curse and, were I the wizard that the Death Eaters think I am, I would make you do things to debase and humiliate you. Try to do as I say without hesitation. Well broken slaves call their owners, Master." Draco lowered his head and swallowed hard. "Try to think of a well-trained but abused dog."

"Draco," Hermione said softly, "I can do this." When he looked at her she smiled a bit. "We can do this. I trust you."

Those three words nearly undid him. He had dressed her as a slave, put a collar on her, and was leading her into Hell – and she trusted him. He swallowed to clear his throat of emotion. "I'm going to put a cushioning charm on the hem of your – dress. If you have to kneel for any length of time, the charm will make it more comfortable." He pulled his wand from the handle of the walking stick he had inherited from his father and with a flick, it was done. "I have your wand in a sheath at the small of my back. If things go badly, fight your way free and Apparate to the Hogs Head in Hogsmeade, ask for Aberforth; Harry will meet you there. Do _n__ot_ wait for me. Get yourself out." He looked at her seriously stopping her objection before it could start. "I'm not asking you, Hermione. You can't be the loyal Gryffindor this time. If things go wrong, I want you to run—with or without me."

Tears welled up in Hermione's eyes at the thought of leaving Draco behind. She refrained from mentioning that even if she could bring herself to leave him behind, in all likelihood she wouldn't be able to. Her magic just wasn't strong enough. If things went wrong, both of them would die. Just as she was about to protest, the clock started to chime.

"I'm more sorry than you will ever know for this." Draco pulled a black leather leash from the pocket of his dress robes and attached it to the ring on her collar with a click. "Stay close to me. Do not leave my side."

He picked up an eagle feather quill from the desk and held it out for her to touch. As the clock struck the eighth hour, she watched the caring compassionate man she had gotten to know in the last few days vanish. In his place was someone who looked remarkably like Lucius Malfoy. Then, the feeling, like a hook grabbing her around the middle, tightened and yanked her backwards rapidly.

When their feet hit the ground, the lingering effects from her broken legs caused her to fall painfully. They had landed in what appeared to be a renovated castle. She subconsciously expected Draco to help her to her feet but all she heard was laughter. She realized that Draco couldn't help her up without giving them away. They were completely surrounded by dozens of people.

Hermione didn't dare move from her position at Draco's feet. Her fingers itched for the feeling of her wand, her every instinct screaming at her to at least look around and assess the danger, but she fought the impulses. She had to make this convincing.

Draco looked down his nose at the man who had stepped up in front of him. He used the time to control his instinct to pick his mate up off the cold marble floor and shield her with his body.

They were in a large entrance way similar to the one at Hogwarts; only here, the stone floors had been changed to polished black marble and the columns were decorated with the twisted stone images of different magical creatures depicted in the throes of torture. In the centre was a fountain with a statue of the fallen Lord Voldemort, his snake curled around his feet.

"Ah, Draco! I see you love to make an entrance, much like your father. And you've brought your new pet. You Malfoys always do manage to collect the most valuable things." The man's voice was falsely cheerful and bordered on sycophantic.

"Mulciber," Draco drawled. "I see _you_ still feel the need to suck up to all the right people."

Mulciber's face hardened. "Careful, boy. You forget who you're talking to."

"I haven't forgotten that your family has been taking orders from mine for centuries," Draco said with a supercilious sneer.

Mulciber reached for his wand but was stopped by a voice ringing across the room.

"Enough! We are here to celebrate Draco's newest victory and acquisition, not to fight amongst ourselves."

Draco looked over to see his uncle, Rodolphus Lestrange, glide into the room. Alecto Carrow was on his arm, and the two of them tried in vain to project a fraction of the presence of the long dead Voldemort. Still, he had to play their game.

The room fell silent as everyone strained to hear the exchange.

Draco nodded his head deeply. "Uncle. Alecto. Thank you for your invitation."

Alecto smiled making her pudgy little figure appear more like a Muggle garden gnome. Her black hair was pulled away from her face but was loose at the back.

"We couldn't wait to see the Mudblood Princess, couldn't wait to play with her. I love the leash. I must get some for my own pets." She pulled away from Rodolphus and advanced on Draco, her attention fixed on Hermione.

As Alecto reached a clawed hand out to grab at Hermione's face, Draco forced himself to give a vicious jerk on the leash, pulling Hermione into his legs and making her cower. "You forget, I don't like to share my toys."

Alecto looked at him affronted.

"Yes, your toy," Rodolphus drawled out. "Just how did you manage to get her away from Rufus? He intended to take her, and now he's missing."

"Oh, he's not missing, Uncle. I killed him," Draco lied convincingly, boredom lacing his tone.

Shocked murmurs rolled through the room as everyone tried to confirm they had heard right.

"Killed him? Really?" Rodolphus raised one dark eyebrow. "Explain yourself, Nephew. Why would you kill one of our Court?"

"I can't take all the credit. Really Uncle, it was stupid of him to go after the Mudblood on his own. Despite its inferior blood…the _Princess_ has proved to be cunning before. When I got there, Rufus was already injured and the Mudblood was unconscious. We exchanged words and he drew his wand on me. No one pulls a wand on me over a bit of filth. I killed him, branded it, and took it as my own."

Hermione suppressed a shudder at the arrogant apathy in Malfoy's voice, as if what he had supposedly done was of no consequence and was something he was justified in doing. Hearing him talk about her like she was a _thing_ hurt. Despite the warnings he had given her, she hadn't been prepared for the reality of what they were facing or the role he forced himself to play.

"Well if a slave was able to get the best of Rufus, then I say good riddance." The voice came out of the shadows of the room and Blaise Zabini stepped into the light. The olive skinned man nodded a greeting. "Malfoy."

"Zabini."

"As usual, Zabini, you cut to the heart of the matter. You make a good point," Rodolphus said. "Very well. Draco, present your pet for inspection; we will have the auction and then let the evening's entertainment begin."

"Entertainment? You misunderstand me, Uncle; I intend to toy with my pet for some time to come. It has much to answer for before I am willing to allow the others have their turn. It will not be a part of any auction tonight," Draco challenged evenly.

"Who are you to say what you will allow!" Alecto screeched. "The Lord's Darkness decides –"

"Enough, Alecto," Rodolphus cut her off. "I presume you have something that will temper the insult of your selfishness?" he asked Draco with a threatening hiss.

"Of course. I have procured three invisibility cloaks to be disbursed at your discretion. Not too terribly valuable, but then, it's only a slave," Draco said dismissively.

They both knew the cloaks were beyond valuable, and Draco knew the galleons he spent would ensure that Hermione would remain with him without argument. His arrogance in presenting them only reinforced his wealth and power within the Court.

"A useful gift," Rodolphus said, slowly trying to hide his excitement. "Fine, but you will still present the slave. We want to see how the breaking progresses."

Blaise Zabini chuckled. "Did you not see the Prophet, My Lord? He has the slave so totally enthralled that he took it shopping, paraded it up and down the main street like a prize dog. Even a confrontation with its friends wasn't enough to shake Draco's Imperius. The wizarding world is all a flutter that Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor, Lord Draco Malfoy has taken the famed war hero as his '_girlfriend'_. It's being touted as, 'The Romance of the Century'." The room rumbled with laughter at his mocking tone. "He even had it wear a gold collar without anyone being the wiser. Pansy said it was very well behaved."

Hermione started to recite the twelve uses of dragon's blood in her head to stave off her humiliation. She mustn't react.

"Yes, I did see the story. It would appear that Draco is as adept at training slaves as you are, Zabini..." Rodolphus turned to Draco "Zabini here has an impressive stable of pets. Although, he rarely brings them to our little gatherings. He fancies himself somewhat of a collector."

"Yes, he always seems to buy the best ones too," Complained Alecto.

Blaise simply nodded deferentially. "Perhaps tonight will be different, Madam."

"That's for later." Rodolphus gestured to Hermione. "Show us its tricks, Nephew." said with a chuckle.

Draco tugged on the leash and tried to control himself, hating what he was about to do. "Heel, Slave," he snarled.

Hermione realized he had told her to heel but not get up. This crowd would delight in seeing her crawl, and it would only enforce his position as her Master. She kept her head down and swallowed her pride. She forced herself to crawl at Malfoy's feet as he strode to the centre of the room, the floor damp and freezing under her palms and knees.

Draco looked down at Hermione's bent head hating himself for placing her there, hating the circumstances that forced him to conceal his feelings for her for so many years. If they succeeded, he would spend the rest of his life, and every last knut of his personal fortune, to ensure he made it up to her. He halted in the middle of the room so they would be visible to everyone.

"What are you?" he asked her in a cold voice.

"Filth, Master," She replied tonelessly. Their survival depended on her performance.

"What is your purpose?"

"I live only to serve you, Master." It was only a role she was playing.

"And what is your name, Slave?"

"Mudblood, Master," Hermione said, the word threatening to choke her, but she knew that this one answer would be the one to convince them she was indeed broken.

Draco looked up at Rodolphus and raised an eyebrow, his lips twisting into his trademark smirk to keep from throwing up.

Rodolphus started to chuckle then laugh. Alecto joined in and it wasn't very long before the whole hall was ringing with the delighted laughter and applause of the Death Eaters.

"Inspection!" someone shouted from the back.

"Inspection," a second voice called out.

Soon the whole room was ringing with the chanting of, "Inspection! Inspection! Inspection!"

Rodolphus licked his lips, practically salivating at the chance to see Hermione's naked body put on display.

Draco forced himself to laugh, aware that Hermione was starting to tremble, and he knew it wasn't from the cold. "Have the lot of you not got anything better to look at?" His lip curled into its trademark sneer. "Are you all so eager to see something so disgusting?" The laughter chanting dwindled. Draco turned in place surveying the room. "I can think of something much more entertaining than making an animal strip, something much more fitting to its position."

Looking down at Hermione he hated what he was about to do. "Show me how much you respect me, Slave." Draco choked out the last order, swallowing the bile rising in his throat.

Hermione's mind raced. Draco said to think of a well-trained dog. She bent over and put her forehead on the tops of his shoes, a single, unnoticed teardrop falling to the cold stone floor as she prostrated herself at his feet and forced herself to kiss his shoes.

"Oh well done, Draco! You truly are a gifted wizard." His uncle praised him. "Your Imperious is second to none. Tell me, why have you not branded her as your own?"

Draco smirked, "It already wears an 'M', doing it twice seemed redundant. It knows what it is. The second 'M' seemed to be a waste of magic especially for such a pathetic creature."

Rodolphus laughed again. "True. Come! You've showed off your pet enough for now. There's plenty of time to see the goods when you tire of it and decide to put it up for auction. Sit with me at the table. Let's enjoy the rest of the night and catch up."

Draco tugged Hermione to her feet, and she stood submissively at his side, but just behind his hip. Rodolphus led them to an opulent dining hall and sat at a long, wooden table with luxurious high backed chairs to enjoy a late night meal. Creature comforts were obviously a priority of the new regime, unlike the way things were done under Voldemort's rule. Draco found himself sitting in a place of honour, to the right of his uncle and across from Alecto. Blaise Zabini sat to his right and further down the table, Draco recognized Theo Nott. Further still was a glaring Dolohov who had a fawning Pansy at his side.

Draco forced himself to push Hermione somewhat roughly to the ground beside his chair, taking comfort in his foresight in charming her dress with the cushioning charm but wishing he had thought of a warming charm as well; she had to be freezing. He looked further around the table, attempting to see who they were dealing with, hoping to see the traitor to the Ministry. Dolohov was there with Pansy, Rookwood, Vaisey, the Carrow twins: Hestia and Flora; Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, Adrian Pucey, Terrance Higgs, Tracey Davis, and many more. He saw many faces he recognized and a few he didn't, but none of them were a likely suspect.

Halfway through the meal, he knew the conversation at the table had to be getting to Hermione, and they still needed to gain more information on the slaves themselves, slaves that had made themselves scarce either by order or out of self-preservation. He waited for her to make a small movement to give him the excuse.

"Bloody Hell! I told you to sit still!" he exploded. "Do I have to teach you yet another lesson?!" His voice lowered in threat as he towered over her, threatening violence.

He wanted to throw up when she curled into a ball on the floor shaking, her head resting on his shoes. "No, Master. I'm sorry, Master."

"And now you've dirtied my robes with your filth! Go! Wash! And don't you dare come back until you're as clean as a filthy animal like you can be! We will discuss your fidgeting when we get home." His voice had lowered to a dangerous level, and he internally cringed when she let out a whimper.

He glared at her as she crawled backwards away from the table.

Blaise called out from his right. "Slave! Take Lord Malfoy's new pet and clean her up!"

Draco watched as a shadow separated from the wall and a vaguely familiar man came forward. He was dark skinned, on the thin side for someone of his height, and was only wearing what amounted to a loincloth. He reached down, intending to draw Hermione to her feet and lead her from the room.

Before Hermione could cringe away from his touch, Draco barked out a command, "No one touches her! The bitch can crawl to the stable if she has to! Washing her own stench away was hard enough; I don't need her to smell like the rest of you." He clenched his jaw and allowed a small amount of irritation to show, knowing the Death Eaters would chalk it up to his well-known hatred of Hermione and muggle-borns in general.

He watched as she stood up and backed out of the room trembling.

"You know, a good beating would help things along," Timothy Morcott said from across the table.

Draco forced himself to laugh and looked over at his uncle. "I would have thought you would surround yourself with smarter wizards, Uncle."

Morcott got agitated. "I earned my place at this table," he snarled.

"Doing what? Cleaning the castle?" Draco taunted.

Rodolphus chuckled and all his little lackeys joined in, having no real idea why they were laughing.

Then Morcott made a grave mistake. He drew his wand on Draco.

"_Crucio."_

Morcott was suddenly writhing on the ground, screaming in pain, his wand useless on the floor beside him.

Rodolphus leaned over to look at the convulsing wizard with a condescending expression. "What have I told you about proper table manners?" He looked up at Draco who was still pointing his wand at Morcott. "Let him up, Nephew. We need to explain to him why he was punished."

Morcott gasped as the pain ceased, laughter ringing through the room as the other Death Eaters watched as if the whole scene was for their entertainment.

Blaise looked bored as he sipped his wine and looked down at the man panting on the floor. "It's a good thing Draco captured the slave. If it had been you or Rufus, the slave wouldn't have been utilized to its full potential. Draco's a master at spying on the Ministry and those Phoenix fools. And now, his new pet is the second in command at the Auror Department and best friend to Harry Potter. She will be the perfect puppet to manipulate the Ministry and gather top secret information. Visible damage would destroy the image Draco has so carefully cultivated," Blaise explained with a tone that suggested the explanation should have been obvious. He switched his bored gaze from Morcott to Rodolphus. "Honestly, my Lord, how did he ever manage to '_earn his place_' here?"

Draco smirked at the fury and humiliation on Morcott's face and mentally added him to the list of Death Eaters he intended to personally see to.

Once she had made it out of the dining hall, Hermione almost gasped when she looked up into the face of Dean Thomas. He had disappeared over a year ago, and everyone thought he was dead. The darkness of his skin did nothing to hide his brand. He, like her, wore a stylized 'M' on the cleft of his left shoulder, but his was paired with a 'Z' representing Zabini. He wore little more than a loincloth made out of the same material as her dress and shivered in the cold of the castle.

"Hermione! What are you doing here? Where are Harry and Ron? How did Malfoy capture you? Are you hurt?" he whispered.

Draco had warned her that this would happen. It broke her heart, but she knew it was necessary. They didn't know who might be actually Imperioused and spying for their owner. "Where are the toilets? Master instructed me to wash," she said in a low monotone.

"Hermione, it's me; Dean. They can't hear you. You can drop the act," he said frowning.

"I have to wash. My Master will be angry if I don't wash," she said as blankly as she could.

Dean let out a gasp, and she watched as he bought her act. "Oh, Hermione," he breathed out sadly. "Come on, I'll let you wash, and then I'll take you to see the others. They'll be happy to see you and maybe it will bring you back to yourself a bit."

He led her to a small bathroom off the kitchens, and she listened as he tried to calm down the people who had recognized her. Hermione used the time to warm her hands and arms under the hot water; she had gotten quite cold sitting on the marble floor. Tears pricked her eyes at the things she had been made to do. Draco had been as harsh and hurtful as he had warned her he would need to be. His act had brought back painful memories, and she was shaking like a leaf.

She mechanically scrubbed at her scraped palms, trying to make sure she got all the dirt off. She had crawled! On a leash! Draco had made her heel, made her call herself horrible names. He had enjoyed it. He-

Her mental pity-party slowed as her mind processed. He had made her call _herself_ terrible names. He had never actually called her those names himself. He hadn't allowed her to be abused, had fought to keep her out of the auction, hadn't forced her to strip naked in front of everyone. He had handed over a fortune in contraband cloaks to ensure it.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Seeing the heavy leather collar reminded her of the tortured look on his face as he had buckled it on her; he had hated every second of it and the reasons behind it. Of all of the faces she'd seen him portray to the world, that hadn't been one of them. No, Draco hadn't meant any of the things that he had said or done tonight. It was all part of the plan; and the leash, collar, and his malicious act were all for her protection and the plan to bring the Dark Court to justice.

With a last caress of the collar that protected her, Hermione forced herself to compose a blank expression once more. She didn't want anything she did to expose them. It was her job to find out who was enslaved and who was dead, at least as many as she could.

Letting out a breath, Hermione lowered her head and took the proper posture for her ruse. She opened the door to see Dean standing there waiting for her, shivering slightly in the damp of the castle. He went to take her elbow but she shrank back from his touch. He pulled back his hand but guided her to the large island in the middle of the kitchen. Several of her old schoolmates were there, and it broke her heart to see the concern on their faces, faces that were thin, bruised, and pale shadows of the people they had been before. Everyone wore the same uniform: drawstring belted smocks for the women and loincloths for the men, all in deplorable conditions of cleanliness and repair.

Among them were Seamus Finnegan, Nigel Wespurt, Marietta Edgecombe, Hanna Abbott, Dennis Creevey, and Susan Bones—all in varying degrees of health. They were all there, everyone who had disappeared, as was Bill's _dead_ wife, Fleur.

People started firing questions at her left and right.

"How did they capture you?"

"It's Hermione Granger!"

"Have you seen my family?"

"How are we getting out of here?"

"Is she here to save us?"

Dean tried to settle everyone down when Hermione couldn't keep the distress from her face. Although, it was for a very different reason than he thought.

Fleur ran up and hugged Hermione hard. "Oh 'Ermione. Eet iz so good to see you! You will save us, no? 'Arry will be coming soon to save us all! Where iz my Bill? And my Victoire? 'Ow iz she?"

She pulled away when Hermione didn't hug her back and studied the blank expression that Hermione fought to keep on her face. "But what iz wrong? Why do you pretend?"

Hermione was frozen in place, flashes of her attack were running through her mind from the feeling of arms around her.

"I told you, Fleur, I don't think she's pretending. Look at her brand; it's real. And the collar. She's petrified of us, and she crawled at Malfoy's feet; he keeps her on a leash. The Hermione we know and love would never do that, not even if she was undercover. And there is no way she would be undercover with Malfoy. I mean it's _Malfoy_." Dean looked at Hermione with a sad expression. "I think they really did capture her."

Hermione concentrated on the far edge of the table, mentally measuring the distance from the dent to the edge of the counter, counting the lines gouged into the wood by years of knives cutting vegetables. By concentrating on the minute details, she was able to block out most of what was being said around her, the feeling of being trapped. The mental exercises helped her to centre herself and force the feeling of panic away.

Movement at the edge of her sight refocused her attention. Luna Lovegood entered her peripheral vision and Hermione's heartbeat sped up. Luna, unlike Dean, was wearing a 'N' brand. Everyone had thought Luna was killed when Death Eaters blew up her rebuilt house in Ottery St. Catchpole. Hermione had gone to her funeral over a year and a half ago. She had been one of the first to be killed. In her shock, Hermione briefly found it sad that Luna wasn't wearing her trademark radish earrings. Conflicting emotions warred for dominance within Hermione: relief, elation, fear, joy, dread, and panic.

Despite Luna's eccentric reputation, Hermione knew that the woman was _far_ more perceptive than people gave her credit for; she had been sorted into Ravenclaw after all. If anyone could see through her act, it would be Luna. The question was, would she go along with it, or blow Hermione's cover.

Hermione watched out of the corner of her eye as Luna cocked her head to the side and considered Hermione carefully. She appeared to make some kind of decision. "Hello, Hermione. Are you hungry?" She looked around. "Someone get her something to eat; who knows when Malfoy fed her last."

Luna walked over and, without touching her, guided Hermione to a chair. "There now, eat up. Your Master will be looking for you soon. You want to be strong for when Harry rescues you, don't you?" She looked around at all the sad faces in the kitchen. Some of the younger slaves were crying. "Have you all got Nargles in your heads? She needs our help, not our pity."

Fleur choked back her tears, "Luna iz right. We stick togezer, as always." She slid a bowl of thin soup in front of Hermione.

Hermione ate mechanically as she listened to everything that was discussed. Apparently, these little get-togethers were held every couple of weeks. The slaves used it as a chance to exchange information on everyone's well-being and the hope that they would be rescued soon.

Everyone was wearing an 'M' brand in addition to the brand that indicated their ownership. There were several people who wore 'C' brands and 'L's that were severely beaten and malnourished. The others did their best to patch them up and give them extra rations, but from the looks of them, they were in desperate need of a Healer's attention. Luna and Dean kept everyone together and treated their wounds with plain water and bandages.

Hermione tried to watch the best she could. It seemed that the sickest and weakest always appeared a bit better after Luna had been with them, and Hermione wondered if Luna was performing wandless magic.

Before she could think about it too much, someone hurried into the room. "Malfoy's calling for her; it's time for the auction."

Hermione couldn't help but shoot to her feet, desperate to get back to Draco and away from the well-meaning touches of her friends and the smell of melancholy, infection, and desperation.

"Master," she breathed out.

Several breaths caught in the room when they heard her.

"Ravenclaw's Ghost, she really is Imperioused," someone said disbelievingly.

Fleur broke down into tears as Dean ushered Hermione out of the room. Dean led her to a large ballroom. The walls were lined with large windows that turned the beautiful light of the full moon falling on the scene into sinister shadows. Massive columns that held the contorted, tortured likenesses of Muggles, House Elves, Merpeople, and the like supported the roof high overhead, continuing the theme that had greeted them in the entrance foyer. It wasn't the grotesque sculptures that drew her gaze though; she recoiled from the sight that greeted her. A naked woman was hanging suspended in mid-air, upside down and spread-eagle, in the centre of the room; her head, hands, feet, legs, stomach, breasts, and pubis all held lit candles that streamed hot wax over her exposed skin causing painful looking burns and blisters. Death Eaters danced under her as if she was some sort of macabre chandelier as her face twisted in silent agony.

Her eyes sought out Draco's and he sneered. "Heel, Slave."

"Ah good. It's back." Rodolphus smiled cruelly. "Wouldn't do to have the Mudblood Princess miss this." He spun to face the darkly glittering throng. "My Lords and Ladies! It's time for this evening's amusements. In honour of our dear Lord Malfoy joining us, I will be putting up two of my own slaves as the main event. I have brought my prized pet, Fenrir Greyback to fight in the pit against any challenger. The owner of the winner will receive one of the cloaks donated by our esteemed Lord Malfoy." Cheers went up as he so casually announced the horrific events of the evening. "Following the fights will be the auction. We have several new slaves going on the block, and everyone will have the chance to replenish their stables."

"My half-giant against your werewolf!" a voice called out.

Another chimed in. "Your giant is no match for my mountain troll!"

Rodolphus chuckled and gestured for them to calm down. "Fenrir will take all comers. He hasn't been fed in a while, and so should be at his very best." A delighted look overtook his face. "If he does well, perhaps we'll let him eat a Muggle!"

Cheers and raucous laughter rang out across the room as they all scrambled to find the best vantage point from which to watch. A heavy, mechanical, locking noise sounded from under their feet as the floor separated and opened to a deep pit under the dance floor. The pit was half the size of a Quidditch pitch and deep enough that no being or creature could ever hope to crawl, climb, or leap out of it. Heavy wooden doors opened from the curved walls where an obviously agitated Fenrir paced in his werewolf form.

A chill ran through Hermione when she realized this would be the test of the evening. She was going to be forced to watch as horrific fights to the death and human trafficking were performed right in front of her. She would have to watch, emotionless, as a Muggle was fed to a hungry werewolf.

Draco was sick. His uncle had insisted that Hermione be brought back in to witness the 'entertainment'. Nothing he said or did would change his uncle's mind, and if he protested too much or made their excuses to leave, they would be discovered. There was no way she would be able to sit there and not blow their cover. He couldn't ask it of her, didn't want to have her relive the tortures that were inflicted on her own body. Slaves bought on the auction block were almost sure to be tortured and more than likely raped as soon as the galleons were exchanged. His instincts were howling at the treatment his mate was about to endure. Oh, he had protected her from physical pain, but this would be so much worse.

His eyes met hers and his lips curled into a cruel sneer at the thought of his uncle forcing him to do this. Using his ill-concealed facial expression to his advantage he said, "Heel, Slave."

Hermione gracefully kneeled, head bowed, subservient at his feet. His stomach roiled. When everyone's attentions shifted back to the pit in front of them, he used the heel of his boot to nudge Hermione's knees slightly more apart making her more stable. Then, without drawing his wand or making any noise at all, he froze her.

Hermione was confused when Draco spread her knees slightly but when the 'Immobulus' soundlessly hit her she panicked.

Mentally screaming, 'NO! No! Not again,' she waited for them to fall on her and the pain to start all over again.

After a few minutes, she realized that no one had touched her. She couldn't hear anything but the sound of her own panicked heartbeat and a slight buzzing. Her peripheral vision told her that she should have been hearing plenty of noise. Feet were stomping, a glass broke on the stone floor several feet away, but she heard nothing but a faint buzzing in her ears. Draco shifted in his seat slightly closer to her, pressing his warm leg against her shoulder and subtly adjusted her collar.

Realization dawned. He had not only frozen her but he had also cast Muffliato, so she wouldn't have to hear what was going on. He was trying to spare her the trauma of the evening. Relief surged. She was still safe for the moment. Draco was protecting her. Suddenly the warm weight of the leather collar around her neck was even more comforting.

Draco watched with concealed revulsion as the lower ranking members in the room beat and defiled a Muggle woman in the foulest of ways. She had been purchased in the auction for mere knuts, simply to be passed around before throwing her into the pit to be eaten alive. To keep from puking, he instead focused on the scent of his mate and the slight warmth that emanated from her skin as she sat at his side. He thought about the look of delight on her face as Gryffindor won the House Cup in first year, and then again after they had won the Quidditch Cup in third year, how beautiful she had looked at the Yule Ball in fourth, how happy she had been when her cat arrived, the look of laughter on her face as she had teasingly hit him with the newspaper.

His reverie was broken by Morcott's voice. "Not got the stomach to take your turn, Malfoy?" He said as he lazily re-buttoned his pants and another took his place.

Draco forced himself to apathetically look up from his seat. Knowing his uncle's attention was focused on him he smirked. "I'm just not in a hurry to soil myself by shagging something that is no better than an animal. But you go ahead, Morcott. I'm sure that's the best you can get."

Draco watched as Morcott's face turned red with the magnitude of the insult.

Before the furious man could blink, Draco had his wand casually but steadily trained on him. "Need another lesson do we?"

Rodolphus started to laugh. "Ah, Morcott, you may be new to these types of entertainment, but Draco here was raised in the Dark Lord's Court. This is nothing new to him." His eyes flicked to Hermione who was still frozen at Draco's side. "You would do well to emulate Lord Malfoy. He and his new pet are a shining example of what members of this Court should be. Look at his spell work. He has a member of the Golden Trio so far under his spell that not even the sight of the torture of a Muggle can break through his Imperious."

Draco wanted to lunge and rip out his uncle's throat as he was patted on the back in paternal pride. "Well done, Nephew. You are a credit to the houses of Black and Malfoy."

"Thank you, Uncle." Draco raised a mocking eyebrow to a seething Morcott in challenge, but the other man merely backed down.

Draco stood, careful not to bump his still frozen mate. "Uncle, I'm leaving. I have several meetings tomorrow and need to get home." He forced himself to look down at Hermione with anticipation. "Plus, I want to play with my pet. I have a special room just for it."

Rodolphus threw back his head and laughed. "I just bet you do. Go. I look forward to your next shipment."

With a thought, Draco released Hermione from the spells he had her under, and Hermione heard the screaming immediately.

As the spells fell away, the scent of fear drifted from her skin to Draco's nose. Sweat began to bead on her upper lip, and Draco knew he had to get her out of there.

Grabbing her by the collar, he appeared to drag her to the foyer where they arrived. A slave was there and indicated a table that held the eagle feather port key that would return them to the Manor. Hermione's strength had given out and his grip on the collar was the only thing still holding her upright.

"Take the feather, pet," he hissed out, desperate to get her away from the shrill, pain-filled, screams still echoing through the castle.

As their hands touched it, they were gone.

* * *

A/N: Graphic I know but now we know what they're up against. I would love to hear your thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Yes, yesterday's chapter had a terrible cliffie at the end...here's the next one to end the suffering.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Hermione collapsed on the rug in the same parlour in Malfoy Manor where they had left only hours ago. Sobs racked her small body as the woman's screams echoed in her ears, bringing back her own horrific attack, torture, and rape. She could still feel her attacker's hands on her body, the sound of her bones breaking, the smell of her flesh burning as she was branded, the feeling of being ripped in two as he rammed himself inside her.

The scent of sandalwood enveloped her, the smell of safety. Draco's arms slowly wrapped around her and she clung to him, desperate to feel safe, needing the security of his embrace. He had saved her, he had kept her safe. As Draco pulled her to him, a low vibration rumbled from his chest, almost a hum or a growl, slowly anchoring her in the present and calming her fears.

A long time later, she sagged in his arms. She was so tired. Hiccups broke through, and every now and then violent shudders shook her small frame.

Draco worried that she had finally been broken. She felt so fragile. He kept her head tucked under his chin as he buried his face in her hair, drawing her scent deep into him. Movement in the corner of the room drew his attention.

Kreacher looked on in misery. "Kreacher has drawn Miss Granger a bath, sir," the formidable little house elf whispered.

Hermione flinched at his voice and curled deeper into Draco, clutching at his shirt and robes.

"Come, _ma_ _chanson_, a bath will do you good. You need to relax and sleep," Draco soothed, trying to pull back a bit to see her face.

She started to cry again, shaking her head violently, clinging to him all the harder.

"Shhh…It's alright." He rocked her gently, trying to calm her again.

Making a decision, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her upstairs to their suite as she clung to him. He had never told the elves to move her from the Lady's suite to one of the guest rooms, and she had never asked. Now he was glad for it. Draco carried her into her room and sat her on the bed. Her sobs had reduced to noiseless tears that ran down her face in an endless stream of agony; her eyes were a vacant sea of pain. As he eased her out of his arms, his hands went to the leather collar around her neck. When he went to undo the buckle she began to shake her head chanting, "No, no, no, no…" under her breath.

"_Chanson_, we need to take this off," he said, hating the sight of it, but her chanting continued, and she began to claw at his hands, preventing him from removing the offensive thing.

Dilly appeared silently at his side with the golden torc in her hands. "Missy 'Mione is liking this one, Master," she whispered.

He looked from the torc to the collar and back again sadly. At least the torc was beautiful. Draco sighed and took it from Dilly, gently fastening it around Hermione's neck and then carefully un-buckling the leather collar. This time she let him remove it.

"Hermione," he said her name softly but got no response. "Hermione, you need to get in the bath and get ready for bed." Again, no response.

Draco considered just letting her sleep in the slave dress, but the thing offended him, and she was still shivering and dirty from kneeling on the cold stone floor of the castle. Lips set with decision, he gathered her up again and carried her into the bathroom.

Kneeling, he lowered her gently into the steaming water fully clothed. He could feel Dilly hovering, wanting to help, but he needed to care for his traumatized mate himself.

"Please find a clean nightgown for her and leave it on the counter then fetch some tea." He heard the pop as she left.

Draco's own eyes were blurry as he blinked tears away. Hermione's face was blank but the tears continued; the hot water was doing little to help her shivering. Using a sponge, he gently squeezed hot water over her exposed shoulders and neck. "_Je suis désolé, ma chanson_".

Without removing his dress shirt or rolling up the sleeves, and not caring about how wet he would get, he reached in the tub and used the sponge to carefully bathe the dirt from her legs and feet. Draco gently urged her to lean back and poured water over her hair before massaging in some shampoo. Hermione was still unresponsive, and he ignored the dress that floated around her in the water making her look ethereal. Thank Slytherin, he had ordered a lining sewn into it or it would be almost completely transparent. As it was, the garment offered little in the way of modesty. As he tipped her head back to rinse the shampoo from her long hair, her eyes shifted to meet his and what he saw there made him feel like a vice was gripping his heart. She looked utterly shattered.

"Oh, _ma_ _seule_ _chanson_." He ran his fingers down her cheek and then gently kissed her forehead.

Once she was clean, Draco lifted her to her feet and set her on the bath mat carefully. With a luxuriously thick bath towel, he squeezed the excess water from her long hair and towelled off her face, neck, and shoulders before drying her arms. A subtle drying charm took care of her hair.

Gathering her clean dry nightgown in his hands, he slipped it over her head to rest around her neck and guided her arms through the sleeves. Trying to preserve her modesty, he looked her in the eyes as he used the towel to dry her inch by inch. As the wet slave dress was lowered, he quickly dried her wet skin and covered it with the dry nightgown, leaving very little skin exposed to his eyes at any given time.

Once the sopping wet slave dress landed in a splat on the floor, she was clean, dry, and fully covered once more. Picking her up bridal style, he carried her back to her bed, savouring the feel of her arms around his neck and her head on his shoulder as she clung to him. The night table carried a steaming cup of tea, and the bedclothes were neatly turned down, the bed already warmed. Draco reluctantly lowered her to the bed and tucked her in. He handed the tea to her and steadied her hands, helping her sip the hot liquid, hoping it would do more to warm her. Once it was done, he arranged the pillows to make her more comfortable, but when he went to withdraw, he heard her whisper.

"Stay…please."

He sat on the edge of the bed, but her tears continued to flow, her eyes never leaving his. He frowned as he watched her body start to shiver all over again. Toeing off his shoes, he lay down on top of the covers and pulled her to him. Draco could feel her face bury deeper into his chest as if she was trying to crawl into his body and hide. His deep raging instincts, denied for so long, were finally mollified as he allowed himself to care for his mate at long last.

Once again, the odd rumbling vibration coming from Draco calmed Hermione and lulled her to sleep. Her last thought before sleep took her was how strange it was to feel so safe in the arms of her childhood enemy.

The rest of the night was anything but restful for Draco. Every time he drifted off to sleep, Hermione would start to whimper and shake, nightmares plaguing her. Each time he would only pull her closer, murmuring reassurances into her hair; his instinctual growl coaxing her back to sleep. It had never occurred to him to leave her alone. Even when he had put her to bed, his only intention had been to sit in the chair and watch over her, thinking that she would be more comfortable with the distance. Being able to care for her and comfort her, as well as reassure himself that she was safe, by holding her all night, was fulfilling every instinctual need within him. It had been so much easier to deny his instincts when they were younger.

When she had been captured and brought to the Manor to be tortured by his Aunt Bellatrix, something inside him had roared to the surface. He had known that she was his mate for almost two years, but he hadn't truly appreciated what that meant. Experiencing her pain first hand was so much more intense than only hearing about it after the fact, like he had when she had been a part of the battle at the Ministry in their fifth year. Only the knowledge that it would be certain death for both of them had kept him from leaping to her defence against Bellatrix. Keeping silent had been his only option. Denying his instincts allowed her a chance and enabled her escape.

Every battle after that had been subsequently harder, the urge to defend growing stronger and stronger. Seeing her broken and bleeding in the park with a Death Eater standing over her, branding her flesh, had nearly been his snapping point. The more time he spent with her, the more his instincts rose. Every time she smiled at him, shared a meal, teased him, or her nightmares were calmed at the sound of his voice, he was drawn farther in. It was no longer purely instinct; he genuinely cared for her. He was becoming more and more tied to her, his carefully constructed defences were crumbling, and he was afraid that one day it would destroy him. Eventually their mission would be over and she would leave.

**CT**

The room was turning grey in the early morning light when movement from the painting drew his gaze, and he saw his mother watching quietly.

"Your Muggle communication device has been vibrating in the Den for the past hour." Her eyes shifted to Hermione's sleeping form "How is she?"

Draco rested his cheek on the top of Hermione's head, relishing the scent of her, the heat of her body pressed into his. "She had a rough night. Rodolphus provided – _entertainment –_ for the evening, and some of it hit a bit too close home so soon after her own attack." He paused to stroke the length of her hair, enjoying the feeling of it running through his fingers. "I should never have brought her into this."

"You didn't bring her into this. You saved her and then brought her here to protect her." Draco made to interrupt but Narcissa's portrait overrode him. "All your arguments in favour of the plan were sound. Regardless of what happened last night, she is in fact safer here than she is in hiding."

"Potter could have-"

"The Potter boy's own family was betrayed by one of their closest friends and killed. Trust your instincts Draco; they have served our Clan well for thousands of years." With that sage advice, Narcissa gave her son a stern look and left the painting.

The sun was creeping across the carpet an hour later as Draco carefully eased Hermione out of his arms, forcing himself to face the day and the responsibilities that came with it. She was finally sleeping peacefully, and he needed to call Potter.

Reluctant to leave the room, he leaned down and took one last long breath from the nape of her neck, running his nose over the rim of her ear. He kissed her temple before leaving her.

After taking care of some essentials in the loo, he entered his private study, collected his phone, and then went back to his bedroom to sit on the bed tiredly. Flipping open the phone, he saw that he had over a dozen missed calls. With an exasperated sigh he connected the call.

"WHERE THE BLOODY HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?! WHERE IS HERMIONE?!" Harry's irate tirade blasted him before he could even say a word.

"Potter, shut UP! It's been a bloody long night, and I don't have the patience for your theatrics! Hermione is sleeping right now but from the volume of your screaming, you might actually wake her up two rooms over!" Draco rubbed his face to try to calm his anger. "I didn't call you because Hermione and I haven't had a chance to go over what we've learned. The meeting was – difficult – for both of us."

"She's alright though. Hermione? She didn't get hurt?" Harry's voice was thick with concern.

Draco sighed. "No, she wasn't hurt. No one so much as touched her, but the evening's _entertainment_ was rather brutal. Plus, I'm sure Hermione saw several people she knows but had to stick to our plan and pretend that she was under my Imperious." Draco heard a small pop and Dilly was standing at the foot of the bed looking worried. "Look, Potter, why don't you come over for tea this afternoon and we can all meet. I have to get back to Hermione."

"I'll floo in at three." And Harry hung up.

Draco looked at Dilly. "What is it, Dilly?"

"A visitor, Master, at the gate. Mister Zabini, Master." The little elf was wringing her hands.

Draco swore, his mind racing. "Show him to the parlour, Dilly. And send Kreacher to me, quickly."

Draco opened a drawer in the nightstand and took out a flask before cursing the fact that Polyjuice potion didn't work on non-humans.

"You asked to see Kreacher, sir?"

"Your mistress needs your help, Kreacher." He turned to look at the hardy elf and saw resolution written on his face.

"Kreacher will do what anything for Miss Granger, sir."

"There's a dark wizard here that may be checking our story and Miss Granger needs to appear to be imprisoned, but I don't want to upset her further by asking her to actually go there. Is there some way you can help?"

With a blink there was a very realistic looking doppelganger of Hermione standing in front of him. The replica was a touch on the short side, the ears were too big, and her eyes were slightly overlarge, the wrong shade of brown, but at first glance it was unquestionably Hermione. The long bushy hair would hide the rest.

"Well done," Draco said, marvelling at the versatility of House Elves. "Go to the dungeons and chain yourself to the wall. Don't be afraid to get dirty. And whatever you do, don't look up at us when we come down." Draco was already pulling on fresh clothes as Hermione's twin popped away to the dungeons, as only House Elves are able.

Just as he was ready to leave his rooms, Dilly reappeared. "Whatever happens, keep Miss Granger in her room. She is not to leave for any reason. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master. Dilly will make sure." The little elf nodded emphatically.

Draco used the time it took to walk through the massive house to compose himself for the meeting that was about to take place. He didn't need to keep up his act in his own home any longer and thankfully it wasn't often he received visitors that demanded it. While he and Blaise used to be rather close acquaintances in school, Draco was very aware that he had seen him only last night, and that he owned his own slaves.

He opened the door to the parlour to see Blaise reclined in a chair, a glass of his finest firewhiskey already in hand.

"A little early for that isn't it?" Draco nodded at the glass.

Blaise's lips twitched in the hint of a smile. "Never too early for good firewhiskey." He took a long sip and looked at Draco. "I have to say, I was surprised to see you last night. I didn't think you had it in you to '_collect'._"

Draco settled himself in the opposite chair and waved a hand in the air, wandlessly summoning a foot stool. "I prefer coffee in the morning. Mimsy!" Draco called, purposely ignoring Blaise's comment about collecting.

A little elf appeared at his feet, seeming to shake and cower. "Master?" she squeaked.

"Coffee. And it had better be hot this time, or you and I will be spending some _quality_ time together," Draco snarled out.

The house elf disappeared with a 'pop', and Draco turned his attention to Blaise. "You and I were never especially close, Zabini. What makes you think you're an authority on how I conduct my affairs?"

"Well you and your family were generally opposed to consorting with filth in any way. You barely tolerate your House Elves, and they are infinitely better than the slaves." Blaise sipped his whiskey, studying Draco for the slightest slip.

A tray with a steaming cup of coffee appeared on the table to his right and Draco took it, careful to preserve his calm façade.

"The opportunity presented itself and what better slave to own than the revered _Princess_ herself? Now I can properly repay her for daring to compete against her betters for so many years." Draco forced a sneer into his voice. "Plus, she's the perfect puppet to further our cause. It's a good thing I happened along when I did; Rufus nearly damaged her enough to make her useless. Short sighted wanker."

Blaise smiled a bit. "I suppose you have better ways of bringing her to heel?"

"I can be very…creative." Draco stood and gestured for Blaise to follow him. They made their way to the hidden dungeons below the Manor.

The sound of chains scraping on the stone floor drew Draco to the darkest of the numerous cells. The dirty figure of a woman in a slave dress was huddled on the floor shivering in the cold. Manacles circled her wrists and ankles as well as her throat. Draco was impressed at the lengths Kreacher had gone to in order to convince their guest.

"You'll have to excuse her lack of greeting. Her vocal chords are still healing." Draco offered as a way of keeping Kreacher quiet. He wasn't sure if Kreacher would be able to convincingly mimic Hermione's voice.

"Impressive," Blaise said looking a bit pale. "I'll get to the point. I want her. As your uncle said, I'm a collector. I'm prepared to offer you an impressive sum for her."

Draco was stunned. He hadn't anticipated this.

"Unfortunately, the slave isn't for sale. I have plans that will only work with her under my control. In any case, the papers have reported our _relationship _and any change would arouse suspicion." Draco forced revulsion into his voice at the last, reinforcing his act.

Blaise frowned clearly disturbed at being denied. "Ten thousand galleons."

Draco cocked an eyebrow at the sum. Surely that wasn't the normal price for a slave. None of the ones sold last night had sold for even a fraction of that price.

"Twenty," Blaise stated.

"She's not for sale," Draco reiterated. Hermione, being Muggle-born, would probably faint if she knew that Blaise was offering the equivalent of over £100,000 for her.

Blaise's jaw clenched in anger, and he gestured to the body of the woman. "You have such grand plans for her? You keep treating her like this and it won't take long for her to be too broken to perform properly. Take it from someone who has dozens of slaves, they're no use to you dead." With that he stormed out of the dungeons and floo'd away from the Manor.

Draco mulled over the strange encounter as he made his way back to Hermione's room. Dilly was waiting for him in the hallway outside her door.

"Did's we do good, Master?" She asked anxiously.

Draco offered a rare smile. "You, Mimsy, and Kreacher did brilliantly. Please go to the dungeons and let Kreacher know he's free to leave. There will be extra honey and chocolate for you all, and I'm sure Miss Hermione will be grateful as well."

He watched as the little elf vibrate with joy before popping out of sight. With a sigh he let himself into Hermione's room silently. She was sitting up in bed staring out the window.

Hearing the door click closed she turned, her hand flying to the torc at her throat. Seeing him, she sighed out his name in a relieved rush. "Draco."

He went and knelt in front of her, hating the fear he saw on her face. "It's alright. He's gone."

Tears welled up in her eyes. "I was afraid that something I did gave us away. That-"

"Shhh…You did brilliantly last night," he soothed.

"That woman…all my friends…" She started to cry and he pulled her into his arms, grateful she hadn't witnessed the brutality of the pit fighting.

"Those people are why we are doing this. We knew it wouldn't be easy." He kissed her temple.

"We'll get them out of there, I promise."

He held her as she cried until her sobs quieted and she fell back to sleep. Easing her back onto the bed, he retreated to his chair in the corner of the room to watch his wounded mate sleep. It wasn't long before his own exhaustion overtook him and he nodded off to sleep.

**CT**

Hermione awoke for the second time that day feeling wrung out. She reached out, knowing that Draco had been there both times when she fell asleep, but he wasn't there now. She sat up quickly, her gaze darting around. When her eyes fell upon the chair in the corner, she let out a relieved sigh. Draco was slumped over, deeply asleep. His face was made even paler by the dark shadows under his eyes from lack of proper rest, and his forehead was lined by stress and worry. And yet, she still found him amazingly attractive.

Hermione hated how weak and needy she had been last night and this morning. It definitely wasn't normal for her. But then, Draco's behaviour had been out of character as well. Nothing in their history had ever suggested he could be capable of such empathy and caring. And never would she have believed he would behave that way towards her. But in the past week, while they were in the Manor at least, he had been courteous, caring, supportive, tender and gentle. In short, the antithesis of the foul, loathsome git he had been in school.

Not wanting to wake him, she eased from the bed silently and padded to the bathroom. Dilly was just turning off the taps to a hot bubble bath and gave her a timid smile before easing silently out of the room. Grateful for the elf's discretion and thoughtfulness, Hermione stripped out of her nightgown and lowered herself into the steaming water.

Her thoughts drifted to everything that had happened last night and the resulting meltdown. She should have been embarrassed that Draco had done something so intimate as bathe her, but her analytical mind was consumed with the reasons why he bothered to do it at all.

Draco could have left her in the care of the house elves with ridiculous ease. Further along that line of thought, why had he gone to such lengths to rescue her in the first place? Yes, all his arguments regarding the investigation into slavery were valid. And she would admit that he was not the man that he so convincingly projects to the world. But he had tended to her injuries himself, willingly and tenderly soothed her fears at every turn, and gone above and beyond in his determination to protect her.

For Merlin's sake! The man had, in a shockingly intimate and selfless act, fed her pain potions from his own lips so she wouldn't choke, and last night he had faced down the entire Dark Court defying their plans for her. He had done his best to keep her from seeing the worst of last night's torments, finally resorting to freezing her and then magically deafening her in his attempt to protect her. He had soothed her hysterics and offered her the reassurance of his arms when she had finally broken under the strain. Then he had bathed her without ever taking the slightest liberty or made her feel uncomfortable in any way, probably saving her from going into shock. Looking back over the past week, with the exception of her nightmares, he had been there at every turn.

Then there were her own actions. Never in her history had she ever leaned on someone as much as she had leaned on Draco in this past week: not after the many battles she had been in, not after recovering from her injuries at the Department of Mysteries, and not even after being tortured by Bellatrix. She hadn't allowed herself to need someone as much as she had needed Draco over the past week—still needed Draco.

But then, no one had ever cared for her quite so tenderly either. Which brought up a whole other topic for rumination. The most casual of touches made her uncomfortable and caused her to physically shy away if she wasn't vigilant in controlling her reactions, but Draco's touch soothed her—his voice, his smell, the deep blue grey of his eyes. And nothing helped calm her as much as when he held her close and hummed tunelessly under his breath, the vibrations reaching deep into her and filling her with warmth.

Her contemplations were interrupted by noises from her room.

"Hermione? Hermione!" Draco's voice was raised and filled with worry.

"I'm in here, Draco. I'm in the bath," she called out.

"Are you alright?" His voice was muffled through the door, but she still heard the concern.

"Yes. I'll be right out."

"Take your time. Meet me in the dining room when you're ready."

She listened to his footsteps retreat and the door to her bedroom close. More evidence of his unexpected behaviour. He had slept in the chair by her bed and just now had been concerned about her absence. In fact, she suspected he slept in that chair more often than she knew. And then there was the matter of her accommodations themselves. He had not put her one of the dozens of guest rooms; he had brought her to the rooms adjoining his. The Lady's suite. And even though she was fully healed, he had not had her moved.

Of course she hadn't asked to be moved either, taking the comfort and security his nearness provided. Again, behaviour that was completely abnormal for her. Even before the attack, with the exception Harry, she had never been overly affectionate, but now even the most casual touch was positively abhorrent. Why did she shy from everyone else's touch but his? Why did his arms make her feel so secure? Why did she have to restrain herself from seeking out his embrace at every opportunity? Was it because he saved her that she felt so connected to him?

She had no real answers. Feeling the warmth fading from the water, she decided to get out. She and Draco had a lot to discuss.

Hermione used the towels that Dilly had left to dry off and found fresh clothes waiting for her on her bed. The little elf would spoil her.

Just as she was fastening the last buttons on her beautiful new burgundy robes, Dilly poked her head in the room. "Miss 'Mione will let Dilly do her hair?"

The little elf looked so excited that Hermione didn't have the heart to deny her. While Dilly was doing her hair, Hermione learned that she had been the late Lady Malfoy's personal maid. Apparently, Lady Malfoy had been quite kind to her before Voldemort had moved in, having been her personal servant for many years. It had only been after the Dark Lord's Court imposed themselves on the Malfoys that the House Elves had been tortured.

Before being freed by Harry, Dobby had been the youngest of the four elves in the house and was quite clumsy, generally catching the brunt of much of the abuse. The late Lucius Malfoy had been forced, due to circumstance, to punish the little elf most severely on too many occasions and could do nothing to temper the punishments that the resident Death Eaters had doled out. The other elves had learned to hide, Dobby hadn't. From what Dilly said, Hermione gleaned that Dobby had been uncharacteristically defiant and stubborn for a House Elf and probably earned more punishments because of it.

When Dilly was done with her hair, Hermione was sincerely pleased at the result. Her normally wild curls were held back off her face by jewelled combs and had been tamed to cascade in sleek, shiny waves down her back. The orderly waves and curls accented the natural highlights and turned her normally dull brown hair to a mass of caramel lined chocolate.

"Oh my! Dilly, you're a genius. Thank you." Hermione felt pretty for the first time in years, especially since... Well, the war and the years following it had left little time for vanity and primping. It had left little time for anything, including relationships.

She and Ron had given it a go after the war, but he had wanted to get married and start a family right away, to bask in the overall adulation of the wizarding world and his new status as a 'Hero'. His family supported his convictions, and she had felt the pressure. Hermione hadn't felt comfortable with the fame and general lack of privacy that came with it. She had wanted to finish school first and then go to work at the Ministry in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Ron hadn't seen the point, hadn't wanted her to work at all. They had the reward money from the Ministry, and he had wanted to fully enjoy all the perks of being a War Hero. He had even fancied trying out for the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team. The relationship was strained to say the least. And then the Death Eater attacks had started, and they had had to start fighting all over again.

There had been so few Aurors left after the final battle that virtually every surviving member of the DA had basically been drafted into the Auror Department. By the time Kingsley Shacklebolt had been appointed Minister of Magic, Harry was ready to take over the top job. The public had been ecstatic when it was announced that he was being promoted to Commissioner of the Auror Department. Ron had automatically assumed that he would get Harry's previous position as Deputy Commissioner. No one had been more surprised than Hermione when it had been given to her instead.

Harry had confided in her that Kingsley felt that Ron was too much of a procrastinator and too hot headed to run the administrative end of the Department. The position called for a level of political finesse that Ron just didn't have. Kingsley knew Harry would be spending more time in the field than the Commissioner position normally called for, leaving the Deputy Commissioner to run things. He felt that Hermione would have a better skill set for it than Ron and that Ron would be better suited alongside Harry. Ron hadn't seen it that way. He had thrown one of his famous tantrums accusing Harry of conspiring with Hermione against him and immediately taken a permanent post overseas.

The stress of the battles, her promotion to Deputy Commissioner over him, and their differing opinions over marriage, babies, and lifestyle had led them to finally call it quits. Harry had been there for her as always, creating tension in his already shaky relationship with Ginny who had sided with Ron. The Weasley women, it seemed, were very old fashioned and felt that a woman's place was at home raising the family, not out working.

Harry had called it quits with Ginny soon after for many of the same reasons that Hermione and Ron had. Harry had wanted a partner in life, someone who would stand beside him but who could also stand on their own two feet. Ginny was pressuring him to get married. She wanted to be _Mrs Potter_, at home raising all the little Potters—something Harry hadn't wanted to do with the war still on. His wife and their children would be prime targets for the Dark Court. Ginny had been stupid enough to give him an ultimatum. Harry called her bluff.

Neither Ron nor Ginny, it seemed, were capable of seeing the bigger picture and the danger the world was still in.

Surprisingly, Ron had been happy that Harry broke up with Ginny. Some rubbish about his sister being too young to know what she wanted in life and that no one, including Harry, was good enough for her. Ron and Hermione had had yet another fight when Hermione had defended Harry. Adding fuel to an already roaring disagreement, Ron had accused Hermione of cheating on him with Harry, further proving his immaturity. Their disagreements in school hadn't held a candle to their blowouts as adults, and the intimate side of their relationship had always felt awkward and forced. Harry and Hermione were essentially left with only each other.

Now, after a year of separation, the three of them had been close to being at least on civil terms. She mourned the fact that they would never again be the friends they had been before their failed attempts at relationships. Ron constantly being overseas helped their new fragile working relationship immensely. That was until Harry announced her _relationship_ to Draco. The howler and the successive letters were positively venomous. Only Bill, Charlie, and George had sent letters of support and understanding. Essentially, they all said they were naturally concerned, but she was a big girl who could make her own decisions.

Actually, George stated that she was smart enough to hex the balls off Malfoy if anything went wrong, so why should he be upset? Both Bill and Charlie stated that they were only an owl away should she need them and sent their love. Charlie did offer to feed Draco to a dragon if Hermione asked though.

Their letters had flooded her with warmth and relief that there were at least a few people in her life who had faith in her; she wasn't as alone as she had thought. However, they didn't temper the sting of the constant flow of increasingly vitriolic letters that still arrived from Ron daily.

With a sigh, Hermione pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind to be dealt with later. If the war had taught her one thing, it was to tackle the most immediate problems first. One issue at a time. Ron was overseas and she was here – with Draco.

Hermione opened her bedroom door to find Kreacher patiently waiting to escort her downstairs. The hall clock chimed one o'clock just as she entered the dining room and found Draco ensconced behind his newspaper.

He folded the Prophet carefully and set it on the table. Studying her face for signs of distress, he stood to help her with her chair. "It's a bit late for breakfast, so I had the kitchen do up a light lunch. Potter will be here at three to discuss what we found out last night."

Draco watched as she gracefully sat in the chair to his right. She looked beautiful today, her hair a perfect frame for her heart shaped face. The smattering of freckles over her cheeks only emphasized the deep brown of her eyes. The only sign of her ordeal was in the caution of her movements and the ever-present weakness of her left hand.

Once he was seated his eyes went to hers. "How are you?" he asked despite his determination not to.

Her eyes lowered and her cheeks reddened. "Better. I want to thank you for…" She stopped and fiddled with her fingers resting in her lap. Sighing she looked up. "I'm sorry you had to see me like that last night. I'm not normally so-"

"No, I'm sorry," Draco interrupted. "I should never have subjected you to that after everything you've been through. You had every right to be upset." He wanted to say more but knew he would just be rambling so he forced himself to stop.

She reached out a hand and rested it on top of his, needing the connection. She realized that apologizing was not something he did often, and it definitely wasn't easy for him. "You did everything you could to shield me from the worst of it. Thank you. Thank you for going to the lengths you did to protect me and for helping me – afterward."

He sighed heavily, looking defeated. "Maybe I should owl Potter. He can make arrangements for you to leave and -"

Hermione pressed his hand and he looked up to see tears in her eyes. "Do you want me to leave? Did I do something to expose you last night?"

He turned his hand palm up and squeezed hers. "No. No, you did brilliantly. I just don't want you to have to go through anything like that ever again. You've been through enough already."

"Don't send me away." She looked at him holding her breath, not willing to admit even to herself how much she didn't want to leave, how perfect it felt to hold his hand and how safe and protected his nearness made her feel. Especially after last night, her reasons had nothing to do with their mission and everything to do with Draco himself and the connection she felt with him. "Please."

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, savouring the scent of her skin and the feel of it under his lips. "You must be starved. Eat up. Potter will be here soon enough, and we have a lot to go over." All talk of her leaving was forgotten.

They ate in silence for a few minutes and Draco could practically see the wheels turning in Hermione's head. She had started to regain the expression she had worn throughout most of their years in school, and he knew it was only a matter of time before her head was in a book or she was scribbling madly with a quill.

"Do you have some parchment and a quill? I need to start writing down what I found out last night before Harry gets here," she asked, setting down her fork as she finished her lunch.

Draco suppressed his smile with difficulty, "Actually, I think I can do rather better than that." He stood up and offered her a hand. "If you would care to join me?"

Curiosity shot through her as she accepted his hand. He smoothly folded her hand over his arm and led her on an informal tour of the Manor, down numerous long hallways naming the rooms they passed casually. The place was enormous and included three ballrooms, an indoor pool, several parlours, a music room, dozens of guest suites, and Draco's own private potions lab which adjoined some kind of workshop. They passed a beautiful Conservatory that overlooked some of the extensive Manor gardens, and Hermione decided she would come back later to enjoy the beauty of the out-of-season flowers growing there.

Draco gave her a sideways glace when she gasped at the sight of the Conservatory but said nothing, enjoying the honest pleasure on her face. He would have stopped there, but he had a better surprise in store for her. Soon he drew her to a halt outside a pair of ornately carved wooden doors. When he paused she looked up at him, a question on her face.

"This is one of my favourite rooms in the Manor, but I'm a bit worried that once I show it to you, I'll never be able to get you out of it. You may even forget I exist," he said, his tone laced with subtle teasing.

She couldn't help but notice how devastatingly handsome he was in that moment. The playful smile on his face was an expression Hermione had never seen him wear before. She leaned into him a bit with a smile of her own, enjoying the new closeness after last night. "What if I promise not to ignore you?"

His chest rumbled with a deep resonating chuckle. "Never offer to make a promise unless you know what it is you're giving up."

His eyes were trained on her face as he pushed open the doors. Her colour rose as her face flushed with pleasure, her mouth widening into a wondrous smile. The sparkle that he had missed so much glinted in her eyes again for the first time since her attack, the sparkle that he had admired from afar for so long during their time at school.

Hermione slowly walked into a huge library that rivalled the one at Hogwarts, spinning slowly to take it all in. The enormous room was larger than any ballroom or great hall and had two floors with the upper being a mezzanine overlooking the lower. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling in orderly rows while stacks were arranged in tidy aisles throughout the massive room. Light flooded in large windows at the far end providing plenty of natural light.

"How may I be of service today, Master Malfoy?" a cracked and ancient sounding voice said.

Hermione looked down to see a small wizened old House Elf wearing the most immaculate set of miniature wizard's robes she had ever seen.

Draco gestured to the small elf. "May I present our librarian, Alex. Alex, this is Miss Hermione Granger. You may have heard that Miss Hermione is a guest here. Please ensure she has full access to the complete library."

The little elf bowed low. "It is my great pleasure to meet you, Miss Hermione. Both Dilly and Kreacher speak very highly of you. How may I serve you today?"

Hermione blinked at the house elf's perfect speech and unusual dress. "It's very nice to meet you, Alex. If it's not too much trouble, may I have some parchment, a quill, and ink as well as a place to work?"

"Of course, right this way please."

Draco smoothly pulled Hermione into the small librarian's wake. "Alex's family has lived with the Malfoys for generations. His ancestors were the librarians at the Library of Alexandria. Each member is born free and chooses to stay as a servant of the library, not the family that owns it, hence his wizarding attire rather than one of a normal House Elf. Because of his dedication to the books, he is far better educated than most House Elves and even some wizards, which is why he speaks the way he does."

Hermione wanted to dance with happiness. Alex represented everything she had ever hoped to achieve with S.P.E.W while she had been at Hogwarts. "He's fantastic."

Draco smiled at her amazed exhalation, happy to see her more herself. "He was my instructor before I attended Hogwarts. Most wizarding children are home schooled before Hogwarts, but I have to say, I believe I had the best teacher."

He watched as she settled herself behind a large desk and with an awkward wave of her wand, a quill began scribbling quickly, already completely absorbed. "I see you've forgotten your promise already."

When she didn't answer he began to chuckle. He looked down at Alex. "If she comes up for air, let her know I'm in my study. I'll send for her when Potter gets here."

The learned elf bowed. "Of course, Master Malfoy."

With a last look at his happily consumed mate, Draco made his way to his study and his own work.

* * *

A/N: Lots of new information but no cliffie this time. See I can be nice! Now if I only knew people were actually reading this...


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter** **8**

"Excuse me, Mistress."

Hermione looked up blinking. Alex was standing patiently in front of her, waiting. It had been his voice that had interrupted her.

"Yes?"

"Master Malfoy asked me to tell you that a Mister Potter has arrived."

"Oh! Is it three already?" She could have sworn she had only just sat down. She looked around blinking, trying to get her eyes to focus. "When did Draco leave?"

Alex started to chuckle but smothered it quickly. "Excuse me, Mistress. Master Malfoy left almost immediately after you sat down."

"Oh, Alex, my house burned down. Draco is graciously letting me stay here while I look for a new place to live." She explained quickly repeating the lie that they had told the public.

"Actually." She paused but decided the elf should know the truth. "Draco and I are working together. Honestly, I'm not the new Mistress."

Alex looked at her with a small smile and a shrewd look. "Are you not?"

"No, I'm not," she stated firmly, not wanting to argue with the learned little elf.

"My mistake," he said with a small bow. "Master Malfoy is waiting for you in the downstairs study, Mistress."

And before she could scold him, he disappeared. With a huff and a scowl, she gathered up her numerous notes and made her way to Draco's study.

When she walked in, Harry was already there. She couldn't help but smile on seeing him and quickly set down her scrolls on the desk in front of Draco. As she turned around to greet Harry properly, she was scooped up in a hug.

The sudden movement brought on panic, and despite the familiar smell and feel of him, Harry's well-muscled arms felt more like a cage than a comfort. Forcing herself to exhale, she willed herself to calm down. This was her best friend, her brother, the one person who had always been there for her. She wouldn't allow one violent act to change how she felt and acted. Her heart had seized in her chest, and she was finding it hard to breathe.

Harry drew back, noting the stiffness in her small body. Looking down at her face, he cursed himself for being twelve thousand kinds of fool for pushing himself on her after all she had been through. He had seen the effects that similar attacks had on their victims: the fear of physical touch and feeling of being restrained. He pulled back quickly.

Draco wanted to throttle Potter for doing something as stupid as grabbing Hermione. He was having trouble restraining himself from growling at the sight of his mate in the arms of another man, and the scent of her fear permeated the room as she tried in vain to cover her distress.

Before Harry could open his mouth and make the situation worse for her, Draco stood up and moved to the sitting area. "You Gryffindors and your constant need to paw at each other! Sit, so we can get this over with." His tone was disgusted and impatient, laced with scorn.

He transfigured one of the two arm chairs in front of the fireplace into a chaise lounge and sat. Hermione surprised him when she quickly drew away from Harry and sat next to him, much closer than the size of the chaise dictated, her trembling making him want to take her in his arms and comfort her but not wanting to anger Potter and make a bad situation worse. Possessiveness and satisfaction flooded him as he felt her breathe deeply and relax, leaning into him slightly.

Harry watched as Hermione sat less than a hand width from their childhood nemesis. He was conflicted at the sight of his previously self-assured, confident, and brave friend— no _sister__—_barely hiding her fearful tremors and seemingly taking solace in the cold and arrogant man they had hated all through school. He was hurt she wasn't able to take comfort and reassurance from him, furious that whatever had happened last night had shaken her so badly, and puzzled she might be finding any kind of support in a man as emotionally vacant as Draco appeared to be. And yet, Harry was also grateful there might be someone Hermione could find comfort in at all.

"What happened last night?" Harry drew his attention back to the current situation.

Draco watched Hermione draw a shuddering breath out of his peripheral vision. She wasn't ready.

"I received an invitation to a private gathering of the Dark Court, a ball given in my honour, and I was _asked_ to bring my new pet. A portkey was delivered by owl with the instructions that it would activate at eight o'clock last night. I provided Hermione with the appropriate attire and at the stroke of eight, we arrived at a castle. Unfortunately, there is no way of knowing where it was located, but from the preparations, it appears they use it as their primary residence and centre for their operations. From what I saw, all the top members were in attendance." Draco outlined all the people he had seen and the events that had taken place. He was concerned when Hermione paled at the mention of the pit fighting and looked like she might bolt at the recollection of the torture of the Muggle woman.

Harry's fury built as he heard Draco dispassionately recount how he had made Hermione crawl like a dog and sit at his feet as if begging for table scraps. He surged to his feet and opened his mouth to start venting his anger.

"Harry, sit down please," Hermione said quietly.

Her calm tone and the pale pleading look on her face drained the anger out of him. He had known they would have to do some horrible things to ensure their cover. If Hermione was calmly asking him to sit down, he would. He could hex Draco Malfoy later.

When Harry sat back down, Hermione took a breath and began recounting her memories of the previous evening. "Harry, they're all alive. Almost everyone we thought was dead is alive. Dean, Luna, Seamus...And Harry – Harry, Fleur is alive."

Harry's mouth fell open. He knew how much the Weasleys mourned the loss of Fleur. How much Bill was struggling to raise their daughter on his own. They had found a body—her body.

"But her body..."

"It must have been a polyjuiced corpse. It was her. The Death Eaters like to collect the unusual and famous as their most prized slaves, which is why Draco was so welcomed last night," Hermione explained.

Draco casually leaned back, adopting a relaxed pose: ankle resting on his knee, arm draped along the back of the chaise so he could feel the heat from Hermione's back ghosting over the top of his hand, her hair occasionally brushing his fingers.

"Hermione is known as the Mudblood Princess in the Dark Court. She's been their intended target for some time. My taking her made me somewhat of a hero. It should make things much easier from now on. I've already had one offer to purchase her." Draco looked at Hermione and she could see the revulsion in his gaze.

Harry was stunned. He knew the Death Eaters were keeping slaves but until he heard one of them wanted to _buy_ his best friend, it hadn't really hit home.

"Is that why Zabini was here this morning?" Hermione asked.

Draco nodded. He could see her wheels turning.

"What are you thinking 'Mione?" Harry asked. "I know that look."

Hermione started rustling through her stacks of parchment. "What did he say to you Draco? How did he act?"

"He seemed angry that you were chained in the dungeons and had clearly been toyed with."

Both Hermione and Harry looked at him; Harry looked alarmed.

"But I didn't leave my room this morning," Hermione said confused.

"I had Kreacher pretend to be you. Apparently, as a House Elf, his inherent magic allows him to impersonate people rather convincingly; he took it upon himself to chain himself to the dungeon wall after rolling in the mud and generally making it appear as if he, or rather you, had been roughed up a little. Zabini offered me over twenty thousand galleons for you, and when I refused, he got angry and told me that you would be no good to anyone dead. He claimed to have dozens of slaves," Draco explained.

Hermione was rifling through her papers and stopped abruptly when she found the one she had been looking for. "I listed the people I recognized by how injured they appeared to be and the brands that they wore. Dean wore Zabini's brand, and Luna wore Nott's, yet they seemed to be in perfect health. Luna, I'm sure, saw right through my act but helped me. The two of them seemed to be almost in charge of the slaves, distributing food, caring for the injured. I'm sure I saw Luna doing wandless magic at one point. Zabini and Nott seem to treat their slaves rather well. I can't say the same for too many others."

"Alecto Carrow complained that Zabini always bought the 'best' slaves and rarely brought them around to entertain," Draco mused. "And last night he seemed to almost support me, seemed to make it easier for me to keep you safe."

"Could he be working against the Death Eaters like us?" Hermione wondered aloud.

"There's no way to know for sure. Factoring in Nott, we'll have to work off the assumption that he's one of them until we have evidence otherwise," Harry said. "The likelihood of _two_ known Death Eaters working against the Dark Court isn't high."

Draco nodded. "Agreed."

"What else do we know about the slaves?" Harry asked.

Draco thought for a moment. "From what I saw last night, only half-bloods and Muggle-borns are sold and kept as slaves. The more rare the mixed blood, the more valuable the slave. Your friend Fleur is quite the prize because of her Veela blood. Zabini won her from Nott just last night for a huge sum in a card game. Not near as much as I was offered for Hermione, but still a lot of galleons. Muggles aren't kept at all, only killed for sport."

Hermione frowned, thoughts racing across her face. "Who else changed hands last night?"

"I didn't recognize the names but the way they were talked about led me to believe they were worthless due to poor health. They were used as wagers in the game as well. I believe Nott won three or four of them. He was still complaining that acquiring them didn't make up for losing Fleur to Zabini." Draco said. "I think they were won from Alecto and Morcott."

Hermione gasped. "They weren't just in poor health; they were dying. I didn't recognize them all, but Dennis Creevey was one of them. Luna and Dean were doing everything they could to help, but without wands and a proper Healer, there wasn't much they could do."

They spent hours going over the information they had gathered, making lists of Death Eaters, slaves who wore what brand, possible locations, and plans for how to proceed. It was decided that Hermione would return to work the following day accompanied by Draco. Harry would make it appear as though he had left to go back overseas to supervise the operations there, when in fact he would be hunting down and placing the Death Eaters under surveillance. The invisibility cloaks that Draco had given them had had Muggle tracking devices sewn into the linings for Harry to track later.

It was time to go hunting for the mole, so they could free their friends and possibly end the war once and for all.

The next morning, Draco escorted an outwardly composed Hermione through the Atrium of the Ministry. The destroyed Fountain of Magical Brethren had been replaced with a more accurate depiction of all the different races. The Magic Is Might monument had been the first thing to go after the war.

Instead of the House Elf, Centaur, and Goblin looking up to the witch and wizard in adoration, they were depicted as working and happy. The statue was larger now as the figures of Giants, Werewolves, and Merpeople had been added when it was remade and stood for the hope that all the races could someday be united in harmony. Draco couldn't help but sneer slightly at the new figures of the fountain and Hermione caught it.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Fine," he said as he arranged his face back to the usual arrogant mask he normally wore.

When the lift doors opened onto the 2nd floor that housed the Auror Office, they ducked reflexively, dodging the purple interdepartmental memos that were waiting. Hermione and Draco were met by a bubbly auburn haired woman who was about their age. She was Hermione's height but carried considerably more weight and had a bright simpering smile plastered on her face.

"Oh, Ms Granger! We're ever so glad to have you back! Unfortunately Mr Potter had to go back out into the field, although I'm not at liberty to say where. Everyone in the office was _so sorry_ to hear about your house and all your things! Such an unfortunate _accident_. Oh! My!" Her chubby hand went to her mouth in a show of surprise, her annoying ramble had come to a screeching halt when she noticed Draco at Hermione's elbow.

"Who is this...person?" Draco drawled out, not having to fake the distaste in his voice. The woman reminded him of a short, squat Rita Skeeter: all fake concern and subtle digging. He hadn't missed the woman insinuated that she alone knew where Harry had gone or that she wasn't at all upset to hear about Hermione being the victim of arsonists and attempted murder.

"This is my assistant, Alma Wattfreed. Alma, may I present Lord Draco Malfoy," Hermione said automatically.

"Oh, Lord Malfoy! It's such an honour to meet you! I had no idea that Ms Granger was connected in such high places. I mean, a man of your station could have his pick of the Families' daughters! Why just the other day-,"

Before Alma could subtly insult her anymore, Hermione interrupted. "Do you have the day's schedule, Alma?"

"Yes, of course, Ms Granger," Alma said snippily, handing over a leather folder.

As Hermione opened it and perused her appointments she casually looked up. "Alma, what is the date today?"

"Ummm…September 23."

Hermione flipped through her paperwork seemingly absorbed and let out a sigh. "I was afraid of that. Merlin, I hate this time of year. Please pull the personnel files for the entire department; I have to get started on the annual performance reviews."

"Yes, Ms Granger," Alma said, still standing there making cow eyes at Draco.

Hermione looked up. "Now please, Alma."

Alma pursed her lips and walked away.

"How do you put up with her?" Draco murmured.

Hermione let out a sigh. "She belongs to the Administration department and as such wasn't my hire. Of course that means I can't fire her either and unfortunately she does her job well enough that I can't complain and have the job done for me. She also comes with the 'highest recommendations' which ensures her assignment to the most demanding department—my Department. Harry pawned her off on me the minute he met her, hence the reason he spends so much time out in the field. She clings when he's here. He calls her a 'blood chaser'. Something about being attracted to Pure-bloods?"

Draco grunted. "Some people follow pure blood families like muggles do the British Royal family. They're social climbers looking to align themselves with famous or well-bred witches or wizards. I believe muggles would call them _gold diggers_?" Hermione smirked but nodded. "I take it she's a half-blood?"

Hermione shook her head. "Actually, no, she's Muggle-born like me. It explains why she's so slow to help me but scrambles whenever Harry comes in. Ridiculous."

The two of them made their way past the cubicles to Hermione's office, which was located to the rear of the department. She had one of the only two corner offices on the floor, which had large picture windows on two of the walls that depicted the real weather outside, several floors above them in Muggle London. Her desk was large and stacked neatly with books, piles of parchment, scheduling charts, foe glasses, sneeakoscopes, ink, quills, and a strange, square, black metal looking object that had small blinking lights around the outer edges.

"What is that?" Draco asked pointing to the strange object.

"My laptop." At the blank expression on his face she tried to explain. "A computer? Kind of like your cell phone but with far more capabilities. I was able to make it work around magic by coating the inside with a shielding potion."

Draco shook his head. "As convenient as my cell phone is, I will never understand the muggles' need to complicate things. There is something to be said for tradition."

Hermione smiled and sat behind the desk. "I'll use the performance reviews as an excuse to take a closer look at the employee files and see if I can narrow our search for the mole."

"It has to be someone who travels frequently. He would have to be able to come in, get the information, and leave without drawing any notice," Draco thought out loud.

Hermione frowned. "The problem with that is the Aurors are the only ones who come and go with the degree of frequency that would be required. And they don't have the clearance necessary to gather information on random muggle-borns and half-bloods."

Draco raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"After the war, when Harry and I took over the Department, we were horrified at the information that the Death Eaters had amassed. Having the Ministry at their disposal enabled them to build files on over 90% of the muggle-borns and half-bloods in the country. In the first two weeks of the Taboo curse, it was policy for the Death Eaters to listen in on conversations before making the arrest. Subsequent torture provided copious amounts of information: family trees, locations, ages. The files were huge and became the basis for the…" Hermione's voice trailed off.

"For the Muggle-born Registration Commission," Draco finished.

"But Aurors don't have access to those files and the Register was destroyed," Hermione murmured, deep in thought. "But the files themselves must actually still exist and someone is accessing them."

"I'll leave you to your research. I'll be back at half five to collect you," Draco said, rising to his feet. "If you need me before then, send an owl."

He saw her look up in alarm, and he moved to stand at her side. The privacy of the office made it easy to give in to the urge; he ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. "Will you be alright?"

Had it been anyone else that asked that question, she would have taken it as an insult and immediately gone on the defensive to deflect the supposition that she was weak. But this was Draco, her dark angel, her protector and now it seemed, her partner. He was leaving and she would be alone at the Ministry looking for a mole in her department. What if the mole realized she wasn't Imperioused? Would they try to kidnap her again? Would they just kill her this time? Or would she be handed over to Rudolphus Lestrange as his personal slave? What if they went after Draco before she could warn him? She tried to shake off these thoughts. She was Hermione Granger for Circe's sake. She could do this. She could.

Draco saw her chin give a minute quiver and knew she wasn't as strong as she wished herself to be.

"I'll be fine," she whispered but Draco wasn't convinced.

He reached out to the torc around her neck, and she gasped drawing back, holding her hand to it.

"Shh…I'll give it right back. I promise," he murmured.

Hermione dropped her hands but was obviously not comfortable with him taking it. Draco took his family signet ring off his hand and placed it on the desk within the circle of the torc.

Modifying the Protean Charm, Draco linked the two pieces of jewellery together and set a trigger word. The torc and ring glowed brightly for a moment.

Once the glow subsided he rehung the torc around Hermione's neck. "Touch it and whisper 'Draconis'. My ring will let me know that you need me. If you feel the torc heat up around your neck, go to the Hog's Head. Aberforth will know what to do." His thumb stroked her jaw line softly.

"But..." Hermione did not like the sound of that.

Draco cupped her face fully in his palm. "No, Hermione. I need you to do this for me. It's important. I know your Gryffindor instincts will tell you to rush to my aid, but in this case, staying away from me and getting to Aberforth will do just that. Promise me," he said, looking steadily into her eyes.

Hermione nodded and took the ring off the table. Taking his right hand in hers she slid it onto his ring finger and whispered, "I promise."

"Good girl." He kissed her forehead and stepped back. "I'll see you later."

Draco left the Ministry and Apparated to Hogsmeade where he went into the Three Broomsticks. He made his way to the bar, tossing some sickles on the counter buying a butterbeer and a pasty. After eating, he casually went to the toilets and pulled his wand, carefully transfiguring his high end robes to something less conspicuous and concealed his looks with a few well-placed glamour charms. The man that left the toilets of the Three Broomsticks bore little resemblance to Lord Draco Malfoy.

No one took any notice of the plain looking, brown haired wizard that walked into the Hogs Head that afternoon. They took no notice of him as, halfway through his firewhiskey, he appeared to make his way to the toilets. Nor did they notice he bypassed the entrance to the toilet and instead made his way to the cellar.

Draco shrugged off the worn and battered cloak and sank wearily into a large armchair that sat near a warm fireplace, his disguise fading away and turning back into the fair-haired aristocrat he was. The fire was the only illumination in the darkness of the cellar that served as the home of the inn's proprietor. Draco ran his hands over his face rubbing tiredly.

"It's risky, this scheme you're runnin'," said a gruff voice out of the darkness.

"Shouldn't you be minding the bar, old man?" asked Draco, not looking up.

A deep chuckle came from the grey haired old man, who faintly resembled his goats that he loved so much. "I'll know if someone steps up to the bar. That lot is so deep in their cups, it'll be a miracle if they awake before dark."

Draco looked up with a rare small smile. "You learning astral projection now, Aberforth?"

"Nope, when the front door opens, the hog wags its tail," he said, gesturing up to the strange taxidermy mount of the rear half of the warthog whose head hung in the main bar upstairs.

"I always wondered why you had a pig's ass end hung in your cellar. I thought you were just losing your mind." Draco leaned back and rolled his tightly wound shoulders, trying in vain to release the tension.

Aberforth looked at the man in front of him, concern creasing his face.

"When was the last time you changed?"

Draco huffed out a breath. "Too long. It's been too risky."

The old man grunted but said nothing.

"Do you think it'll work?" Draco looked up. "My plan?"

Aberforth crossed the dark room and lowered himself into the chair across from Draco with a low groan. "Like I said, risky. But, I do think it'll work. Provided you make it out alive."

"It's complicated," Draco started say but was interrupted.

"The girl." Aberforth snorted at the glare he received. "Don't look at me like that, pup. I may be old, but I'm not blind. I've seen the way you've looked at her over the years. Only met her the once, but I was impressed. Everyone talked about how clever she was. Didn't prepare me for the intelligence I saw in her eyes." He huffed out a grunt. "Explains why my brother took to her." He refocused on Draco. "If anyone can help you, it would be her. How is she?"

Draco pushed to his feet and started to pace. "She has nightmares, hates to be touched. She'll never use her wand hand again."

"Nothing that surprises me. What I meant was...how is she with you? Has she forgiven you?"

Draco sat back down with a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. "That's the amazing part. It's like she never felt the need to. She saw way more than I ever thought she had over the years. Now it seems the only touch she can tolerate is mine. I'm sure it's only because I rescued her and that we're working together." Draco looked up at the only man he truly trusted with tortured eyes. "I love her."

"Just figured that out, did you?" Aberforth said with a laugh.

"Shut it! You know what I mean. The mating pull was there, but I never expected to love her like this. She's so strong and yet at the same time so fragile. I want to protect her but at the same time, to do that, I have to put her in danger." He let out a growl. "I've never been so conflicted."

The old man grunted. "Girl's been in danger since the day she started at Hogwarts. Running from one scrape to the next, always busy trying to keep those two nitwit friends of hers out of trouble. At least Potter could hold his own; the other one always was more guts than skill. Now that she's by your side, you'll be better able to protect her."

"Protect her? I took her to the center of the Dark Court! She-"

Aberforth interrupted. "She came out alive and unhurt, which is better than any other time she's gone into a dangerous situation before. Give yourself some credit, boy. Your plan didn't let anyone lay so much as a finger on her. With Potter, she would have ended up in St. Mungos – that red-headed buffoon would have gotten her killed."

"Yeah I'm a real Mugwump – I only traumatized her instead of landing her with a Healer," Draco said bitterly.

"You need to run." Aberforth stated. "You're getting irascible."

"Which brings up a whole other problem. Even if we make it out of this, win the war once and for all, how do I tell her what I am? What am I to her?" Draco's eyes were tortured. "I've never had to tell anyone before. I've been conditioned since birth to never tell."

"She's an intelligent girl. Maybe she'll figure it out," Aberforth said softly.

"Like you and your brother did?" Draco let out a huge breath. "If she comes here?" Draco asked looking up at Aberforth, a question and plea in his eyes.

Aberforth didn't let him finish. "I'll protect her. You have my word."

* * *

A/N: Some more major clues...what will you few but loyal make of it? I would love to hear your guesses! Reviews are love, people.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: This is a monster chapter at almost 10k words. Lots of things are happening but there just didn't seem to be a good place to break it up without shattering it into tiny pieces. So fill up your coffee cups and get comfy. Oh and this chapter contains scenes of gore and mentions of rape. So if you're under 18 or have a weak stomach...sorry.

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Hermione spent the afternoon poring over personnel files and was more frustrated than ever. Everyone on staff had been questioned under Veritaserum before they were hired and had passed without flags or suspicion.

Her hand actually did much better typing than it did holding a quill, so the steady clickity-click of her keyboard filled the office as she made list after list of information to research and double check. She filled spreadsheets with columns of names, dates, missions, and the like for easy referencing and filtering later.

Next she looked at the register that all administrative staff had to sign when they pulled any particular file from the archives. If someone in her office was getting information on muggle-borns they would need to sign out the file. She started with the oldest, dating back the two years since the war. The Dark Court had risen in notoriety only six short months after the battle at Hogwarts, with the abductions and suspected slayings of muggle -borns and half-bloods starting shortly after.

No one person seemed to be signing out the files that made up the Muggle-born Register any more than anyone else. As her eyes scanned the parchment there was one set of initials that caught her eye. The file belonged to the Creevey family and had been taken out of archives seven months ago. The initials were 'MP'. The thing that made her narrow her eyes was the fact that there was no one who worked in the Auror office with those initials. Dennis Creevey had gone missing a month after the file had been signed out.

The high pitched sound of her excited assistant made her look up at her door. A moment later, a frosty faced Draco entered without knocking, a fawning Alma right on his heels.

"-get you some tea, Lord Malfoy? Perhaps some biscuits? I have some very tasty biscuits that I had brought over from Paris. Perfect for-"

"Time to leave, pet. Gather your things. I find that I am eager to get home. The elves should have dinner waiting for us." Draco's irritated voice cut across the nauseating woman's as if she wasn't there.

Hermione wanted so badly to give Alma a severe dressing down, but it would be out of character for someone under the Imperious curse. As she gathered up her papers, Alma, oblivious to Draco's rising anger, continued to chatter.

"If you're hungry, Lord Malfoy, perhaps you would like to go to dinner? I know a fabulous place in Diagon Alley, very exclusive. They cater to the finest families in-"

"I'm ready, Draco," Hermione said closing her bag.

Draco picked it up and offered her his arm. "Come, pet."

The two of them swept out of the office without a word, leaving an affronted Alma in their wake and several pairs of eyes studying them closely.

Hermione could feel Draco's arm vibrating under her hand as the door of the lift closed in front of them. "Are you alright?"

"I can't stand being around people like her. Pandering to me because of my last name and the purity of my family," he growled out, grateful that they would be alone in the lift long enough for him to regain control of his temper.

Hermione chuckled and Draco looked at her in surprise. "What's so funny?"

"Pandering, Pansy Parkinson. She, Crabbe, and Goyle were always hanging off your every word. If you hated it so much, then six years at Hogwarts must have been excruciating," Hermione said dryly.

Draco cracked a smirk. "The difference being that Pansy fancied herself my future wife and knew when to shut up. And Crabbe and Goyle didn't have half a brain between them and said very little."

"Half a brain seems rather generous, don't you think?" Hermione murmured as the doors to the lift opened.

Draco was forced to school his features into the public mask he wore when what he really wanted to do was laugh out loud.

**CT**

When they walked through the door of the Manor, Mimsy was there to meet them. Hermione had rarely seen the little elf as she was in charge of cooking.

"Hello, Mimsy."

"Mimsy will be taking your cloaks. Mistress, your new clothes is here. Dilly is putting them away," she explained before turning to Draco. "Dinner is being ready soon, Master."

"Thank you, Mimsy. Where is Kreacher?" Draco asked.

"Mister Potter has called for him, Master."

Draco's eyes narrowed infinitesimally at that, but he looked down at Hermione when she placed her hand on his arm. "Kreacher does surveillance for him sometimes, normally right before a raid. He can sometimes take down wards so the Aurors can get in safely." She didn't mention the other ways Harry had of gathering information.

"House elves can get past wards?" Draco asked in surprise.

"Sometimes. It depends on the lineage of the family. How do you think Harry and Ron got out of the dungeons when we were imprisoned here? Dobby snapped in and freed them before helping us escape."

Draco led Hermione to the parlour and sat down in front of the fire. "That's something to think about. I wonder if it's possible for him to figure out where we went two nights ago."

Hermione frowned in thought. "It wouldn't be the first time we've asked him to find someone for us. Kreacher seems to be remarkably resourceful. We can ask him when he gets back."

"I'm surprised that Potter still owns him to be honest. I would have thought you would have made him set Kreacher free long ago," Draco mused, quirking an aristocratic brow.

Hermione let out a long breath. "Don't think I didn't try. Kreacher refused to be released, and Harry really can use the help. I asked Kreacher about it once and he only said something about finally being able to serve a worthy family at last. He seemed to warm up considerably when he found out Harry is a direct descendant of Ignotus Peverell. Apparently, the Peverells are older than even the Blacks, and he considered it a step up." She finished with a smile. "I've given up trying to free elves that are truly happy. Now I only look to help ones that are being abused, even if they don't want to be rescued most of the time."

Draco was surprised to find out that Potter was a descendant of the Peverells. They were indeed one of the oldest of the pure-blood families. They were the subject of legends; no wonder the elf came around. "Kreacher certainly 'warmed up' to you."

"He had been abused for so many years that a little respect and kindness go a long way. Because I treat him as a friend, he became one. Simple."

Draco doubted it was 'simple' at all but kept silent.

After dinner they retreated to the library to work on Hermione's lists. As he was looking over the list of Aurors, one of the names snagged his attention. "Henry Walden."

"Hmmm…?" Hermione hummed, dragging her attention from her laptop.

"What do you know about Henry Walden?" he asked.

She frowned. "Not too much. He's rarely in the office. Why?"

"I've never heard of a Walden family before. However, there was a Death Eater named Walden MacNair," Draco said, still thinking.

"MacNair died during the battle at Hogwarts. Buckbeak killed him," Hermione said, remembering the nasty man that had once been the Hippogriff's would be executioner. Hermione always thought it was poetic justice.

"The hippogriff?" Draco said surprised.

"Yes 'the hippogriff'. The same hippogriff you tried so hard to have killed," Hermione snapped, feeling a flare of anger over the long past offense.

"Hermione, that was third year. We were children and I was a very confused and angry child. Despite the world thinking that the Dark Lord was dead, several of his followers still moved in our social circle. I was brought up around people who hated anyone who wasn't a Pure Blood. And really? Can you honestly say that a herd of hippogriffs were safe creatures for a bunch of third year students?" Draco tried to explain but knew he made a muck of it.

A haughty look appeared on her face. "I will admit that I had my reservations when I saw them. But Hagrid really did do a rather good job of finding fairly docile hippogriffs. If _someone_ had been paying attention to instructions rather than showing off for their friends then they wouldn't have gotten hurt." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You sure managed to milk that one didn't you?"

"It bloody well hurt when it happened!" Draco defended.

"I'm sure it did, but you can't tell me that Madam Pomfrey didn't heal it in a trice," she said, her lips set in a line.

"Just get back to the story. The hippogriff killed McNair?" Draco didn't like being reminded of how big a git he had been as a child, especially to the one person he had hurt the most.

"Well not directly. Buckbeak attacked MacNair and knocked him over. MacNair was stepped on by a Giant. What does that have to do with Henry Walden anyway?" Hermione knew he was embarrassed by his past and allowed the change in subject.

"Maybe nothing, but I would keep an eye on him nonetheless. It seems to me I remember hearing MacNair talk about a little brother, although I never met him or heard his name. And like I said, Walden isn't a common surname."

"He would be a likely candidate for our mole. He comes to the office every couple of months but spends the rest of the time travelling." Hermione frowned. "It doesn't explain how he gets the information though. Like I said, he doesn't have the clearance to request files." She started typing. "I'll let Harry know through Kreacher that Henry is someone to look at. He'll know what to do."

"I'll make discrete inquires as well. Someone in the Dark Court will remember if MacNair had a brother."

The two of them passed several hours working companionably together, researching family trees, verifying security exam transcripts, and cross checking initials with employees. It was getting late and Draco leaned back in his chair to stretch. He looked across the table to see that Hermione had fallen asleep on her book. The sight was so familiar and soothing yet sad as well. He remembered all the times that he had snuck out of his dormitory in the middle of the night to watch Hermione in the library. He had watched her fall asleep on her books too many times to count. Keeping watch over her at night was the only way he had been able to be close to her back then.

How many nights had he wanted to go to her, wake her up, and escort her back to Gryffindor tower? Worried that she would wake with a kink in her neck from the awkward sleeping position—forced to keep his distance because of war and his family's well-being. Hating the role that he had cast himself in early on and the things that he did daily to hurt her so as to avoid suspicion.

This time he wouldn't have to keep his distance. Draco stood and went over to her sleeping form. Not wanting to startle her, he brushed her hair gently off her face and stroked her cheek. When she merely sighed, he eased her chair back and gathered her up in his arms. She was so small and fit so well against his chest.

Her arms instinctively went around his neck and she nuzzled her face into his shoulder, sighing his name. "Draco."

Alex watched from the shadows of the library with a smile on his face. He had never seen the Master look so contented and happy. The young woman was perfect for him―his true mate. The learned elf had heard her cries in the night and knew that only the Master could soothe her. He watched the young Lord Malfoy press a tender kiss into her hair then rest his cheek on her head.

Draco carried her to their rooms as if she was as fragile as spun glass and more valuable than the fabled cloak of the Deathly Hallows.

Alex knew from Dilly that the Master would spend yet another night in the chair at her bedside, unwilling to be parted from her side. All was progressing as it should. Soon however, the young Lord would have to confide in his mate and reveal to her his true nature. Their bond would depend on it. He would do what he could to push things in the right direction. And he knew just the book to do the trick.

**CT**

Hermione woke the next morning to an empty room, but she knew that Draco had stayed in the chair again last night. She wouldn't have slept the night through if he hadn't. She rolled over and looked out the window. It was a beautiful day out. The sun slanted through the window like a golden waterfall, warming the bed and making it hard for her to summon the energy to leave it. It was easy to lay here and pretend that all was right in the world. But all wasn't right with the world. People were being slaved out and killed every day. Absently, she traced the ridges in her shoulder that made up the black 'M' that had been branded into her flesh. She had been raped, tortured, and marked as a slave. But, she had also been saved.

There was a low knock at the door and Dilly's head rounded the door. "Good morning. Master Malfoy is asking me to tell you that Kreacher has come back, Mistress."

"Thank you, Dilly. And I'm not your Mistress," Hermione said, pulling back the covers. "Can you please tell Draco I will be ready to go in half an hour, and could you please ask Mimsy to have tea and a muffin ready for me to take with me?"

"Yes, Mistress."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the space where Dilly had been standing. Alex was a bad influence. All the House Elves were now calling her Mistress, barring Kreacher because he belonged to Harry. Nothing she did stopped it, and for some odd reason, Draco turned a deaf ear to it.

The following several days followed the same pattern. Draco would escort her to work, coolly depositing her in her office and returning at the end of her workday to collect her. After dinner they would retreat to the library to go over their findings, Harry's reports, and sometimes Kreacher would update them on what he had found. Thus far, Henry Walden had done nothing to rouse their suspicions further, although Draco had confirmed that Walden McNair had indeed had a younger brother. He hadn't yet heard what the brother's name had been.

Things in the Auror department had been normal as well, with the exception of the temp that had been sent up from the Administration department to replace one of the Assistants who was out sick. Hermione had been surprised when the woman had knocked on her office door to introduce herself. Millie Price was old enough to be Hermione's mother but looked more like her father. A rather large woman who had a square jaw and unpleasant disposition, Hermione immediately wondered how often she had filled in for unexpected absences. A subtle inquiry yielded the information that she filled in for several different departments on a regular basis including the Auror department, Improper Use of Magic office, and the office of the Minister for Magic. All of those placements put her in the perfect position to access sensitive files. Hermione planned on making some discrete inquiries about her.

Draco went looking for Hermione late one afternoon and found her sitting on a blanket in the middle of the lawn of the Conservatory next to a sizable indoor pond. She had been coming here more and more and could often be found wandering the paths, stopping every now and then to smell a bloom or enjoy the warmth needed by some of the more delicate species of exotic plants.

He paused to watch as a line of items in front of her did various things. A pair of gardening gloves struggled to clap themselves together. A bucket alternately filled and then emptied of water while a trowel attempted to transfigure first to a shovel then a rake and back again. A trio of canaries chased each other over her head.

"Your magic is getting stronger," he said as he stepped forward.

When he approached she looked up at him in pleasure, the magic ceasing immediately and falling to the ground. "Draco, you're home." She looked over the random objects with a wrinkled nose. "Barely third year stuff. It's still really hard for me to get it right and takes far too much time, energy, and concentration."

The domesticity of the scene hit him hard, and he hated the thought that one day soon she would be gone, back to her own life. Their mission wouldn't last forever, and he had no right to hope that she might want to stay.

Hermione saw a strange fleeting look pass over his face before he smiled at her. "You'll get it. You're being too hard on yourself. It hasn't been that long and you're already doing Third year spells." Draco dropped down onto the grass beside her. "I seem to be finding you in here more and more often."

He followed her contented gaze and frowned slightly when he saw the tail of a snake retreating into some Fanged Geraniums. He made a mental note to speak to one of the House Elves about it. His attention was drawn back to Hermione when she spoke.

"It's amazing here. My second favourite room in the house I think. I love the quiet. And the smell of the different blooming flowers is amazing." She closed her eyes and took a long breath in, savouring the different scents that blended together to form an amazing perfume that changed daily, depending on what was flowering that day. "It's so peaceful in here. It makes it easy to concentrate."

"I'm so very glad you like it." He looked at the serenity on her face and was loathe to disturb it.

"What is it, Draco?" Hermione asked concerned at the look on his face.

Draco sat in the chair opposite her. "I think we should consider moving from the Manor to my London home. We are more visible there and may provoke a reaction from the mole if we flaunt our _relationship_ a bit more."

"Why would you be hesitant to suggest that?" When he looked up at her surprised, she snorted. "Don't look so surprised. It was written all over your face. You obviously dreaded bringing up the subject."

Actually it had been the thought of her leaving that had caused the dread, but she didn't need to know that. He thought up an alternate truth to avoid exposing his true desires. "I'm only concerned that by provoking him, it'll put you in more danger than you're already in."

"We, Draco. The danger _we_ are in. It's not just me. You're in just as much danger as I am, and I refuse to let you fight this on your own anymore. We survived the Death Eater Ball and, while I may not have been as useful as I could have been, we still managed to get some very valuable information." She reached beside her and pulled out a copy of the Evening Standard, a Muggle paper. "I had Kreacher sneak out and get me this. It looks like the Death Eaters are celebrating Halloween in a truly terrifying way." She handed it over. The headline read: "_Terror Bombs Explode Across London_," with pictures of Muggles running away from plumes of black smoke and burning buildings. "The Muggles seem to think it's some kind of religious vendetta but this has Death Eater involvement written all over it. Multiple locations, minutes apart, and over fifty-six Muggles dead, including a Muggle-born and his family."

"The Prophet is covering it as well and has little more information than the Muggles do, other than the Obliviators having to work overtime to cover it up," Draco said, scanning the article. "Harry sent me an owl. Apparently, they need more information, so I'm going out to see if someone is in the bragging mood."

Hermione gasped, a worried look on her face.

Draco reached over and squeezed her hand "Relax. It will be expected that I make an appearance to celebrate their victory. It's the quickest way to find out how they managed it. I do things like this all the time. We need to try to find out how they knew to target those specific locations. Those Muggle-borns had retreated to the Muggle world in fear for their lives. They should have been safe."

She got a determined look on her face, "Then I'm going too."

She started to stand but Draco gently pushed her back down. "You can't. This isn't the type of event that slaves normally attend, and if I brought you, you would look out of place. I'm in no danger tonight, I promise." Her face didn't lose the worried look. "I'll be back by the time you get settled into the London house."

Hermione nodded in resignation.

So it was decided. They would move to the London townhouse so they were closer to the flow of information and so that they could be seen more often in public together. Hermione mentally winced at the further turmoil it was likely to cause between her and the Weasleys that resided there but agreed and pointed out that it would be easier to meet with Harry as well. Before she could even make it upstairs, the elves had their clothes packed and ready to transport to London.

**CT**

Later that night found Hermione in Draco's London home. She was once again settled in the Master's suite; this time her room was separated from Draco's by only a shared bathroom. The suite here was much smaller than the one at Malfoy Manor and lacked the additional shared sitting room, but could still easily be called expansive. Her new room, the Lady's bedchamber, overlooked Hyde Park.

Somewhere in the house a clock chimed three times. It was late enough to be considered early and Hermione was still up waiting with bated breath for Draco to make it back safe and sound. She stopped pacing the room to look out the large bay window and into the darkness of the park for the first time, hoping to see Draco coming up the walk.

The view that she once would have thought lovely now brought back horrific memories. She shuddered, remembering the smell of his sweat, the feeling of the grass, cold and wet on her knees, the pain as her flesh was stripped away, the mud squishing through her fingers under her, and the sound of her bones breaking and the fire tearing her in two as he forced...

"Breathe, _ma_ _chanson_. Just breathe." Draco's hands caressed her shoulders as he turned her gently and pulled her into his arms. She gasped for breath, trapped in her memories. "I'm sorry, I didn't think."

She was shaking and he cursed himself for not thinking about the proximity to the park and the possibility that it might upset her. Grateful he had come back in time to help her, he picked her up and holding her close, carried her through the bathroom and into his room which had a view of the back garden instead of the park. He laid her on the bed and stretched out behind her, offering her the security of his body.

"I'm–sorry. I don't…know what came over me. I used…to love…the park," she cried as she turned to him clutching at his shirt and burying her face in his chest.

He ran his fingers through her curls, petting her hair. "And you will again. Eventually you'll remember the happy memories and be able to look at the park the way you used to. When you're ready. For now you can stay in here."

She should have protested, been concerned about where he would sleep and what the elves would think. "Thank you, Draco." Instead she snuggled closer into him. "I'm glad you're home. I was worried."

Her murmured words were a revelation. Never before had he had someone waiting for him at home, concerned about his welfare and whether or not he would even make it home. He wondered now more than ever how he would ever live without her once this was all over.

**CT**

Draco's plan for them to be seen more in public was put into action the next night. Hermione took the opportunity to wear the new one shoulder black dress they had found at Madam Malkin's, having been told by Draco to dress for a formal evening out.

When she descended the stairs to a waiting Draco he was struck dumb by her beauty. She had done her hair in an elaborate up-do that showcased the elegance of her neck and shoulders. Every step she took slowly revealed and then concealed the toned strength of a long leg. Her creamy peaches and cream skin flirted with his senses and heated his blood. The gold torc around her neck made her appear regal and for the first time, Draco didn't hate the sight of it.

"You look breath-taking, Hermione."

Hermione blushed at the heat in his gaze and allowed him to spin her slowly for a better look. He was so different than the boy she had known in school. The last couple of weeks had shown a side of him that, as a girl, she had wished him to be. She used to bemoan the fact that his heart-breaking good looks were overshadowed by his foul personality and poor character. Had she known it had all been a carefully constructed façade, she would have given in to her girlish fantasies and pursued him like all the other girls had done.

"The moon will be jealous of your beauty tonight, and I will be the envy of every man," he said as she turned to face him again.

She blushed at the sincerity in his eyes. Slowly, he was helping her to see herself in a new light. His unwavering support and casual tender affection was reconstructing her shattered psyche, giving her back a sense of self confidence and showing her the person that only Harry had ever insisted was there all along.

"Thank you." She smiled feeling a bit breathless herself as she took in the formal robes and the way they emphasized the strength of his body and the piercing grey of his eyes. "You look rather handsome yourself."

He held out a hand to the waiting Dilly and she placed a length of cloth across his arm. "I didn't want you to be cold this evening."

Hermione gasped as he held out a luxurious navy blue velvet cloak. The edges were heavily embroidered with silver thread and crystals. A deep hood would help ward off the damp London night and protect her hair from the weather.

"Draco, it's beautiful." She ran her hand over the fabric tenderly, never having seen something so lovely. "You – It's too much."

"Nonsense. The minute I saw it I knew it was made for you." He held it out to help her put it on. "It's had an Impervious charm cast on it as well as a warming charm so you'll be well protected from the elements tonight." Draco didn't feel the need to tell her about the other protective spells he had placed on it as well.

Hermione looked over her shoulder at him. "Thank you, Draco. It's the nicest, most thoughtful gift I've ever gotten."

He pulled her back slightly and kissed her forehead while squeezing her shoulders lightly.

"You're welcome." Releasing her, he stepped back. "Ready to go?"

Hermione nodded happily. "Where are we going?"

Draco offered her his arm. "I thought dinner at Savoia Giardino and then the theatre. To celebrate Halloween, they're performing a special play."

"That sounds lovely," Hermione said as Draco led them out the door to the front gate and the apparition point.

"Hang on." Draco turned them on the spot and Apparated them to Diagon Alley.

Moving through Diagon Alley was no different than when they had done it the first time. Draco was arrogantly polite to those they passed, nodding when an acquaintance called for it but otherwise was coolly distant. Blaise Zabini's mother owned the restaurant and originally coming from Italy ensured that the cuisine was authentic and very delicious. Because of the association Draco had with the Zabini family, they were granted the best table: private and yet still visible to some of the other diners.

Mrs Zabini herself came out to greet Draco and nod condescendingly to Hermione. She gossiped with Draco about her upcoming eighth marriage to a wealthy German Count after which Draco quietly confided to Hermione that the poor man would likely be dead within a year. Mrs Zabini's husbands seldom lived long enough to enjoy her company. At dinner the conversation was interesting but held little of the lightness and ease of their private meals at home.

Hermione too acted differently than Draco was used to. She was polite but distant; her smiles were small and discouraged anything more than social niceties. He knew that part of it was her portrayal of someone under an Imperious curse, but he noticed that it was also an attempt to discourage those who would fawn on her for her status as a member of the 'Golden Trio' and a famous war hero.

They both wore masks and played the parts that society and the mission required of them.

Draco was grateful for the relative privacy of his box at the theatre. Once he closed the door of the spacious box, they would have some semblance of privacy until they took their seats at the balcony's edge.

As the door closed behind them the atmosphere turned to something more intimate, closer to the closeness they shared at home. She felt Draco's hands on her shoulders, wordlessly offering to take her cloak. She shrugged it off and a delicious tingle ran up her spine as Draco's breath washed over the bare skin of her neck and shoulder. Her eyes closed and her breath came faster as she tried to tame her body's reaction to his nearness.

"I think you'll enjoy the performance. It's a wizarding production of Lewis Carroll's, Alice in Wonderland."

Draco's breath tickled her ear and made her pulse beat faster. His fingers trailed gently down her arm before ending at her hand. He kissed her fingers tenderly before leading her to their seats and helping her into her chair.

As he sat down in full view of the theatre's other attendees, the aloof public persona of Draco Malfoy fell into place once again. With the exception of her hand, which he kept clasped in his on his lap, which was concealed from the view of the public around them by the low balcony railing, he was the image of cool conceit and passably polite arrogance.

Periodically throughout the show, his thumb would gently stroke the back of her hand, instantly raising gooseflesh on her arms and causing a blush to colour her. The darkness of the theatre served to conceal her reaction, but each hidden caress reminded her that he wasn't the wizard that he showed to the rest of the world. She felt a connection between them that she couldn't explain and when she was with him she felt safer and more cherished than at any other point in her life. Hermione resolved to enjoy their growing closeness without questioning it. For the first time in her life she wasn't going to analyse and think something to death, she was going to try to steal some happiness for herself despite the horrific circumstances that got her to this point. For far too long she had pushed her personal hopes, dreams, and goals to the side for the greater good; and she had more than paid the price for it.

The theatre went dark as the scene changed and in the darkness Draco risked raising her hand to his lips for a quick kiss, bringing her out of her contemplations in a most pleasurable way. Her attention returned to the stage in an effort to control the reaction that the simple act of kissing her hand had on her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Draco smile slightly, and he squeezed her hand gently. Sighing, she returned the gesture, happy just to be in the moment.

The play itself was amazing. Magic made scenes possible that no Muggle stage would ever manage to capture. Actors grew and shrank, transfiguration enabled a realistic caterpillar, the Cheshire cat appeared throughout the theatre at odd times startling the patrons, and Animagus made the whole thing realistic in a new way.

Draco spent most of the time watching the play of emotions across Hermione's face rather than the actors on stage. The evening may have been a ruse to further their mission, but from the beginning he allowed himself to pretend it was an actual date with the woman he loved. There were so many things he longed to show and experience with her. The damned war and his role in it dictated that most of them were impossible outside the realm of their imagined relationship. For tonight, he could pretend she was his and that anything was possible…that she loved him in return.

When she left he would be able to take solace in his memories of offering her comfort and support, in the way she asked to stay instead of being placed in protective custody by Potter. He knew she was dedicated to any task she put her mind to and asking to stay for the good of the mission was yet further proof of her bravery and commitment. Draco would treasure the nights he spent watching her sleep and chasing her nightmares away, the times that she unconsciously sought his touch to calm her fears, the feeling of her small body in his arms, her heart beating against his chest, and the scent of her in his nose. Soon the mission would be over and Hermione could return to her life, seeking professional help in dealing with her trauma, perhaps even going on to marry one day. His heart clenched at the thought.

But for tonight she was here, by his side, accepting the small affectionate gestures he allowed himself. He didn't allow himself to think that she might be doing it only to maintain the façade they projected.

After the show they made their way to the street, ready to Apparate to the London house when a feminine voice hailed them with a dark purr.

"Draco, darling." Pansy Parkinson curled her long fingers over Draco's free arm, and she tilted her cheek as if expecting a kiss.

"Pansy," Draco greeted her coldly, ignoring the unspoken suggestion that he receive her with something as familiar as a kiss on the cheek.

She huffed out her disapproval. "It was good to see you the other night. I'm sorry we didn't get to spend any _quality_ time together." She practically purred the last.

Her tone was suggestive and Draco raised an elegant eyebrow. "You were otherwise engaged, and given your companion for the evening, I doubt it would have been wise for you to 'spend time' with me."

"My companion would have thought nothing of a _conversation_ between old friends..." A wicked smile spread over her face, "...in fact, he may have found it entertaining to join us." She slid a glance at Hermione. "Provided you brought your new..." She paused as if remembering where they were. "..._girlfriend._"

Draco looked down at Hermione with a clenched jaw.

Hermione kept a faintly vacuous smile on her face. "Hello, Pansy. It's so nice to see you again."

Pansy looked down her rather pug shaped nose. "Granger."

"I love your dress. Draco had me try it on at Madam Malkin's the other day, but he said it didn't look right on someone as small boned as I am." Hermione looked at her with a believably envious look. "Maybe someday I'll put on enough weight to fill out that dress as well as you do."

Pansy flushed and angry red. "Why you-!"

Draco smoothly intervened, trying hard not to blow their cover by laughing. "I'm sorry, Pansy, something must be '_wearing off_'. What I'm sure she meant to say was that she doesn't have your voluptuous body that many admire so much."

"I suggest you take your _pet_ home and remind her of how to behave in polite company," Pansy hissed through gritted teeth.

Draco gave her a cool smile. "Of course. I'm sure I'll catch up with you at the next ball."

"Perhaps then my companion and I will get to spend some time getting to know dear Ms Granger," Pansy said with a vicious glance at Hermione.

"Perhaps." With a last nod at Pansy, Draco guided a now trembling Hermione down the street to the Apparition point.

Once they were safely back in the foyer of the town house, he tilted her face up to his. "Are you alright?"

She nodded. "Just shaken. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have baited her that way. I could have blown our cover."

"You did fine. In fact," Draco chuckled, "that was the most brilliantly vague insult I have ever heard."

Hermione smiled deviously. "Well, thank you, your Highness" She dipped into a graceful curtsy. "The Prince of Slytherin pays me a great compliment indeed."

Draco laughed out loud before picking her up and swinging her around. "And you, my witty Gryffindor Princess, will forever keep me on my toes trying to stay one step ahead of you."

Setting her back on her feet he looked down into her brilliantly smiling face, enjoying the healthy flush on her cheeks.

"Thank you for a wonderful night, Draco. I know it was necessary but you made it truly enjoyable. One of the best nights I've ever spent," she said sincerely. It had been the perfect evening despite running into Pansy, and she wanted so badly to kiss him in that moment.

"It was entirely my pleasure," Draco said slowly as he brought one of her hands up to his mouth and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of her fingers.

Hermione looked up into his eyes and felt her skin flush. She looked at his lips, unconsciously her tongue darted out to moisten her own.

Draco watched her tongue disappear back into that delectably kissable mouth and felt his own barely leashed urges rising. Just as he contemplated leaning down and pressing a kiss to her delicately parted lips a loud tapping sounded at the window.

They startled at the noise and looked over to see a formidable looking hawk owl demanding entrance.

The moment shattered like glass. Hermione stepped back, disappointed and heart sore at the reminder that this hadn't been a real date. "Goodnight, Draco."

Draco let her go with aching fingers that longed to pull her back. "Goodnight, Hermione."

Two nights later found Hermione standing at the window looking out over Hyde Park. She had been forcing herself to spend a few minutes looking at it each day. Draco had suggested starting by positioning herself so she could only see a couple of trees instead of looking at the park as a whole. So far it seemed to be working. And he was always there to help calm her down if the emotions got to be too much.

Tonight she was tense for a whole other reason. Draco had to go to a meeting with the New Order and Hermione was nervous. She knew he had been doing this for years, but it didn't change the fact that she was terrified something would happen to him. Tonight was the night that they would learn the name of Walden McNair's brother. She couldn't shake the feeling of dread that chilled her to her core.

"Hermione."

Draco's voice came from behind her and she turned stepping into him, needing his closeness. She rested her hands on his chest as she looked up into his face.

"I'm leaving now." He ran his finger down her cheek. "Try not to worry. I'll be back before you know it."

"Please be careful," she pleaded.

Her eyes shone with the threat of tears and he put his arms around her to offer comfort and reassurance.

He kissed her forehead gently and squeezed her shoulders. "Always." He pulled back. "I'll be home soon."

And then he was gone. Hermione retreated to their rooms thinking to take a bath but was too wound up to enjoy it and ended up getting out long before the water cooled. She pulled on her nightgown and climbed into bed. Alex had sent some books along for her to read on the genealogies of some of the older pure blood families to try to trace the McNair family, among others.

She was sorting through the books when she came across one that didn't belong. Mythical Beasts of the Wizarding World by Artemis Scamander, written in 1352.

She flipped open the very old and tattered cover, and by the date, assumed that it had been written by an ancestor of Newt Scamander. Thumbing through the pages she saw Water Dragons, Giant Roc, and Goofus birds, Wapaloosie, Ink Monkeys, and Lizard Men. Page after page of fascinating and mythical creatures were explained in detail. There was a bookmark at a page titled Loup-garou and showed an illustration of a man transforming into a wolf. Hermione had read hundreds of books, and they all stated that werewolves transformed into a strange half-man, half-wolf hybrid that was monstrous in appearance and completely devoid of human reasoning. She had seen it in person.

This book however postulated that modern werewolves were the accidental creations of true werewolves that could fully change from man to wolf and weren't subject to the ravages of the full moon. The Loup-garou were an ancient race that could transform at will and retained their human minds while in animal form. The author stated that little was known about the Loup-garou due to their secretive nature and strong bonds with their mates and members of their pack, allowing for little to no actual research, only what was passed down in folklore.

Hermione found the book fascinating and thumbed through it to read about other creatures that the wizarding world held as mythical. She smiled, reminded of Luna, when she found Nargles and the Crumple Horned Snorkack listed. She was amazed to see a listing for a Horse of a Different Colour. She had only heard of it as a child watching The Wizard of Oz with her mother, and it brought back happy memories. Someone had obviously screwed up if Muggles had learned of the fantastic horse.

Another page showing a picture of an Ova caught her eye as it depicted a tall hairy hominid with backwards facing feet that was thought to inhabit the northern parts of Russia and Siberia, confusing attempts to confirm its existence because any attempt at tracking invariably led the tracker farther away from the creature itself.

As fascinating as the book was, she set it aside for far more pertinent ones. She woke hours later to the feeling of the bed dipping under her and of her book being gently lifted off her chest, the reassuring smell of sandalwood surrounding her. "Mmm…Draco?"

He watched as she blinked groggily, looking adorable snuggled into his huge bed surrounded by discarded books.

"Are you okay? Did everything go alright?"

"Yes, _chanson_, it did. Good news. It looks like Henry Walden is actually Henry McNair, Walden McNair's little brother," Draco said, gently using a finger to stroke a lock of her hair off her cheek and behind an ear.

Hermione came to full awareness. "That's wonderful, Draco! We have to tell Harry. We have to arrest him. He needs to be questioned. How did he manage to-"

She was interrupted by Draco's chuckle. "I've already contacted Potter and events are in motion as we speak. We're one step closer to stopping the Dark Court. First the mole and then the Court themselves."

He watched the hope in her eyes dim slightly. "I've learned not to set my hopes too high. We thought the war would be over with the death of Voldemort and the Battle of Hogwarts, but we were wrong. I try to take each battle one at a time and prepare for the next one. Because, there's always another one."

"All things come to an end," Draco said, brushing her hair back off her forehead as she yawned.

"Sleep, Hermione. I expect tomorrow will be rather busy."

She sighed and relaxed against the pillows. He made to get up but this time she stopped him.

"Will you stay until I fall asleep?" she asked softly.

"As you wish." He settled himself against the headboard and lifted his arm, offering the space under it.

Hermione snuggled up against him, his deep humming instantly relaxing her. Using his chest as her pillow, she was quickly back asleep. Draco's last coherent thought was that he could easily spend every night for the rest of his life just like this.

Draco woke very early the next morning, on his side with the scent of Hermione in his nose and the feel of her body spooned against him. He indulged himself and pulled her closer, hugging her small body to him, relishing having her in his arms and not staring longingly at her across a crowded room. He shouldn't allow himself to get too near to her, get too used to her presence in his house, shouldn't enjoy the scent of him on her skin, shouldn't fool himself to think that she could ever want to be a part of his life. She seemed to need him right now, but that wouldn't always be the case. Hermione was strong, and the mission wouldn't last forever. They had too much history, and she didn't know anything about him, not really. He pressed a kiss to her temple and pulled away reluctantly. He would take the gift of her for as long as he could and hoped it would be enough after she left.

Hours later, Hermione and Draco were sitting down to breakfast when Harry came through the floo, dirty, bloody, and angry.

"Harry!" Hermione leapt to her feet and ran to him, calling for hot water and some medical supplies.

"I'm alright, 'Mione. The bloody bastard got away!" he raged.

"What happened?" Draco demanded.

"One of the newer Aurors went too soon and McNair was tipped off. We fought but he cast a Conjunctivitus curse and then caused all the gargoyles to come to life forcing us to fight them off while he got away." Harry wavered and collapsed into a chair that Hermione directed him to.

"Harry, your eyes!"

He had blood streaming from the corners and down his face as a result of the curse, and Hermione cleaned it off with the cloths that Mimsy had brought.

"I'm alright!" Harry said, shrugging off Hermione's help.

"Bloody Hell!" Draco swore. "We have to track him down."

"Kreacher is out looking for him now, but he's smarter than we gave him credit for, and unfortunately I trained him myself. It won't be easy." He swatted Hermione away impatiently.

"I SAID I'M ALRIGHT, HERMIONE!" Harry yelled.

Draco let out a growl when he saw her flinch back in fear. "She's trying to help you, you wanker! Show some bloody gratitude!" he spat out angrily.

"It's alright, Draco. Harry gets testy when he's hurt," Hermione said, shooting Harry a nasty look.

"I do not!" Harry protested loudly and then yelped when Hermione hit him hard on the shoulder. "Right, sorry," he said, duly chastened.

She finished cleaning him up and applied some salve to his eyes. "We have to get to the Ministry. There's a lot to be done if we're to catch him before he makes it back to Lestrange."

Hermione and Harry spent the day coordinating search efforts, searching Henry McNair's desk and in Harry's case, dodging the attentions of Alma. Hermione finally got frustrated and called down to Administration for extra help. She was disturbed when Millie Price showed up and did her best to monitor the woman's actions which only served to increase Hermione's already impressive workload.

McNair's lodgings revealed a previously unknown antidote to Veritaserum that was turned over to the Unspeakables for study. It at least explained how he had been able to evade the security questioning.

It was late by the time Draco came to pick her up. Harry had left hours ago due to a tip on McNair's whereabouts and the department was all but deserted as everyone left to apprehend him.

"Come, pet. You're tired." Draco helped her on with her cloak and she took his arm.

They could hear Big Ben chiming the eleventh hour as they hit the street outside the Ministry. It was only a few blocks to the London house, and Hermione decided that she wanted to try walking past the Hyde Park instead of Apparating home. Knowing it would upset her to cut through it, Draco stayed to the main streets and kept her on the inside of the sidewalk, shielding her sight from the darkened park and reminding her to only look at individual trees not the area as a whole. It was helping but not much. She was pale and her face held a sheen of perspiration. Draco watched her breaths get progressively shorter and for the hundredth time, cursed himself for moving them to the city and then again for allowing her to convince him that they should walk home. She was pushing herself too fast, and he hated the smell of her fear. He pulled her into a faster pace so they could get home and she could calm down. Had he been paying more attention to their surroundings rather than her mounting panic attack, he may have been able to prevent what happened next.

They were only a block from home when Hermione was yanked painfully from Draco's side and into a dark alley. Before she could blink there was a wand pointed at her throat.

Draco let out an angry yell and followed them into the alley but stopped when he saw the wand.

The shadowed figure of Henry McNair held Hermione as a shield and snarled at him, "Filthy blood traitor! Your parents would be twistin' in their graves if they could see you now, they would. Movin' the Princess of Mud into their home, spittin' on centuries of tradition and good breedin'!"

"Let her go," Draco commanded, his voice harsh and promising a slow and painful death if he chose to ignore it. "Let her go and I kill you quickly. Hurt her, and I promise you'll be wishing for death long before I grant you your wish."

"No. You're gonna watch 'er die, traitor. I'm gonna make you watch as I make an example of 'er. You're gonna 'ave to stand there and watch as she screams," McNair snarled with a twisted grin.

Hermione was already shaky from walking past the park and getting snatched out of the dark was the thing that tipped the scales. As she gasped for air through her anxiety attack she tried to focus. She had been in this situation before, and she and Harry had practiced in case it ever happened again. Only, there was a catch.

"Expelliarmus!" she panted, interrupting McNair's taunting of Draco.

McNair's wand went flying out of his hand, but Hermione's was wrenched from her cloak and out of her reach as well. That was the catch.

Before she could get away, a knife replaced the lost wand. Tears poured down her cheeks as McNair hissed into her ear, "You didn't think somethin' little like tha' could stop me, did you? I was trained by _'arry Potter, _'imself." The last came out as a mocking hiss. "I know all about you and your dirty little 'Trio'. Watched you for years, I 'ave. I'll leave your body on the steps of the Ministry as an example, an' then I'll take my rightful place aside the Lord's Darkness an' in the Court."

Although he had stepped into a deep shadow, Hermione could see Draco breathing hard, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, his shadowed face taking on a foreign look. She wasn't sure if it was a trick of the dim lights, but his eyes were practically glowing and looked feral in the darkness. When he spoke, Hermione swore she saw his teeth lengthening and growing sharper. The nails on his hands had grown and appeared to be more like claws. Panic rose high within her, spots dancing in front of her eyes. She was afraid she would faint. It wasn't Draco. It couldn't be.

"You will release my mate, human. Now!" Draco's words were literally growled out, barely understandable, his voice bearing little resemblance to a human one. The alley was flooded with the smell of her fear and it enraged him, causing him to lose his carefully guarded control even further.

McNair started to shake. "Wha-what are you?"

The arm around her throat was shaking and tightened in fear. A thin red line appeared around the blade and a rivulet of blood ran down her neck. The last shreds of Draco's restraint snapped in an instant and his inner animal took over.

Hermione whimpered as Draco lunged forward, claws outstretched. McNair flung Hermione from him, thinking to use the knife in defence, but before he could do more than raise it, it was batted away as if no more than a fly and Hermione felt the warm spray of blood hit her cheek, a roar making her ears ring.

She scrambled on her hands and knees frantically searching for her wand. She heard a body fall to the ground, savage snarling mixed with screams pushed her to look faster. A crash echoed as something large was thrown into a rubbage bin, an enormous shadow on top of it. Fingers finding the familiar feel of wood, Hermione scooped up her wand, pointing it at the creature she had thought was Draco. It was more animal-like now, the face bearing little resemblance to a human's and her blood ran cold. The mangled remains of McNair lay at its feet, an arm missing and the throat torn out.

"We-werewolf…can't be. Wrong moon…no, no, no, no… not – no…please no…" She stammered out, her thoughts disjointed and confused. "St-stay a-away!" She started to cry, terrified as she remembered her run-ins with both Lupin and Greyback. She had barely escaped with her life both times. She raised her wand but only sparks came out. She switched to try holding her wand in her bad hand, hoping that she would be able to make it work but the wand clattered to the pavement when her fingers refused to close around the handle.

She stumbled back as the creature in front of her took a step forward. "Draco!" she cried out, hoping he would appear and save her from the imposter in front of her. It took another step forward, its pale muzzle dripping with the dead man's blood, the moonlight making it look black.

"No!" She dropped to her knees without taking her eyes off the monster in front of her. Finding her wand once more, she raised it only to have it batted away just like the now dead McNair's had been. "No! Draco, help me!"

Instead of ripping her throat out like she expected, the creature drew her gently into its arms; growling softly. She struggled, confused, afraid and barely able to breathe as it restrained her. Preparing to scream, she heaved in a breath: sandalwood mixed with the scent of animal. Her body involuntarily relaxed at the smell and the feeling of the low growling vibration, rumbling through her. It was entirely too familiar. Facts and memories ran through her panicked mind at light speed: catalogued, compared and conclusions drawn, rejected and accepted. Her legs collapsed and the creature followed her to the ground, gently cradling her shaking body. She pulled away slowly and in the dim light of the nearby street she looked up into its eyes.

Intelligence and sadness shone out of familiar grey eyes―Draco's eyes.

Her hand tentatively reached up and traced the fur around those beautiful grey eyes. "D-Draco?"

He pulled away slightly, seemingly afraid of her reaction, but she followed him, staying within the shelter of his arms. "Y-you have to c-change back. Someone m-might see."

He pulled her back to his chest and took some deep breaths. The sounds went from a deep rasping resonance to one that sounded more normal under her ear. When she looked up next it was to see the familiar planes of his face, blood smeared – but completely human once more.

He pulled his wand out and pointed it at the body. "Depulso." The body vanished between one second and the next. "Scourgify." The blood vanished from the pavement.

He scooped Hermione's shaking body up into his arms. "Come, let's get you home. That cut looks bad and I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

* * *

A/N: I'm sure Hermione isn't the only one with questions. Glad to see you made it through the monster chapter. After all those words from me I would love to hear some from you.

Also for those of you who have read my original work_ Andromeda Rising,_ there will be an outtake posted for free sometime soon on my website. james dash ramsey dot com

I am hard at work on the sequel _Sagittarian Scandal _but don't have a projected release date as of yet.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 11**

Draco carried a shaken and bleeding Hermione up the stairs and directly to their London suite. He laid her gently on the bed and stepped back quickly. "I'll send Dilly to you with medical supplies."

He turned to leave but stopped when she spoke. "W-why?"

"Why what?"

Tears ran down her face."Why won't _you_ help me?"

He sighed and put his hands in his pockets, looking at the floor. "I didn't think you would want my help. I didn't want to scare you."

The walls must have been listening because Dilly popped into the room and left a bowl of warm water, wash cloths, and medical supplies, disappearing as soon as she put them down without saying a word.

Draco heard a broken sob and looked up to see Hermione crying as she clutched a hand to her still bleeding neck. The front of her blouse was soaked, and he was very worried that McNair had nicked something vital. The need to care for his mate overwhelmed him as he approached cautiously, not wanting to make her panic worse. With deliberate movements he dipped the cloth into the water and wrung out the excess. "May I see?"

She nodded shakily and slowly pulled her hand back. He dabbed gently at the wound, gritting his teeth against the growl that threatened at the sight of her still welling blood. Once he had her cleaned up, he slowly and deliberately drew his wand. "Is it alright if I heal it? It's rather deep and you've lost quite a lot of blood."

She nodded, her eyes locked on his face. As he drew the wand across the cut, taking care to close it completely, she raised her hand and with a butterfly light touch, her fingertips touched his hand.

"Loup-garou," she whispered.

Draco drew back. "Where did you hear that?" he murmured incredulous.

Hermione turned and pulled an old book from the stack on the night stand. She opened it and turned the book so he could read it. "Alex sent it with the others."

She watched as his eyes scanned the page and he swore softly. "_Alex,_"

"So it's true?"

Draco looked up at her. "Do you feel well enough to go back to the Manor? We shouldn't discuss this here."

She nodded shakily and he picked up the book as he stood. He helped her down the stairs and using the fireplace in the study, they travelled back to the safety of the Manor. Wordlessly he helped her up the main staircase and half carried her to his room in the Master suite. She looked around and realized she had never been in this room of the Manor before; it contradicted all of her expectations of the former Slytherin Prince.

The room held a massive four poster bed carved out of dark mahogany. The mattress was piled high with a deep green coverlet, trimmed with beige and embroidered with leaves and trees. Pillows to match made it look inviting and promised a sleep without equal. Turning, she found a dresser, escritoire, and massive armoire all in the matching wood to the bed. The walls were a rich chocolate brown and the huge French doors that overlooked the gardens below were framed by beige curtains trimmed in the same deep green of the coverlet on the bed. Overall, the room reflected the tranquility of a forest, and she loved the calm that it projected.

Dizziness hit her and she swayed. Draco steadied her by holding her elbow. "You should get cleaned up. I'll send Mimsy to watch over you as you shower." He gave her a serious look. "Shower, no bath; I don't want to risk you passing out and drowning. When you're finished I'll have a potion ready for you and then we can talk."

Not feeling well enough to argue, Hermione merely nodded. Mimsy appeared out of nowhere as only House Elves can and helped her to the bathroom.

"What's happened, Draco?" Lucius's voice came from the painting over the fireplace.

Ignoring him, Draco called for water. When it appeared, Draco started explaining in a low voice.

"Hermione was attacked by McNair this evening in London. I lost control and half transformed, killing him in the process."

"Was she hurt?"

"A knife wound to the neck that I've healed already. Mimsy is helping her bathe, and she'll need a blood replenishing potion before bed."

"Were you seen?" Lucius asked.

Draco knew if he had been seen, Lucius's image would visit another portrait far from here to sound the alarm. Thankfully it wouldn't be needed tonight. "Only by Hermione." He reassured the painting.

Draco set about cleaning himself up. Looking in the mirror, Draco found it amazing that Hermione was as composed as she had been. His face and neck were covered in blood, looking like he had attempted to bathe in it from his attack on McNair; the blood had thoroughly soaked his chest and the tattered remains of his white dress shirt. He looked horrific, like a true monster, and Draco wondered if Hermione could ever get over it.

The water had been changed several times and was still a healthy pink colour by the time he was finished washing. As he was pulling a clean shirt out of his closet, the door to the bathroom opened behind him and a very pale Hermione stood in the doorway wearing a beautiful navy blue silk robe over a matching lace trimmed nightgown. The colour of the gown enhanced her beauty but highlighted the nearly translucent pallor of her skin left in the wake of adrenaline and blood loss.

Hermione took in the man in front of her. The chest that his shirts had only hinted at was displayed in all its well-defined and chiselled glory. The clean expanse marked by a silvery slash across his chest, the scar a reminder of the slashing curse that ended his short-lived duel with Harry in Sixth year. His arms were leanly muscled and screamed of the strength that he had used to defend her time and time again; the much faded Dark Mark still sitting high on his forearm. His pants hung low on his hips and a light dusting of pale hair led her eye to the naked V of his hips and the strength of his legs that she knew would be the echo of his upper body behind the concealing layers of the cloth of his pants.

She drew in a shuddering breath and again gripped the doorway as dizziness hit her, her heart pounding in her ears, her legs feeling weak underneath her. Spots floated in her vision, a black curtain seemed to be falling in front of her, a rushing in her ears, the feeling of being both hot and cold at the same time, her hands shaking she started to sink to the floor – and then she was weightless as Draco caught her in his arms. She was lying on a cloud and her dark angel's voice drifted over her.

"Drink, _ma_ _chanson_. It's the blood-loss causing your dizziness, this will help."

Glass pressed to her lips and she turned her head, refusing to drink, her head swimming with vertigo.

"Hermione, you need to take it; you've lost too much blood."

The glass came back and she opened her mouth but the angle was wrong and it started to pour out of her mouth. She heard a sigh above her and then warm flesh met her lips. She pressed herself closer, eager to feel his warmth. Potion passed into her mouth, and she swallowed reflexively. Her hands clasped around his neck pulling him closer, feeding at his mouth, needing the reassurance of his body close to hers. Long after the potion was gone, he kissed her. Slowly, painfully he drew back and she whimpered.

His mouth was flooded with the taste of her, and he was feeling almost drunk from the flavour of her desire, however false he thought it to be. Draco looked down at her slightly fevered face, wishing that delirium wasn't to blame for her passion. He pulled away but her hand grasped his.

"Stay. Please, Draco, don't leave me," she whispered, looking into his eyes. "I need you."

Her eyes blinked slowly as she fell asleep, fighting the effects of the potion and blood loss. Unable to ignore the pleading of his mate after the trauma of the evening, Draco stripped to his boxers and climbed into bed pulling her faintly chilled body to his, ignoring the rising need of his own body and the clamouring of his wolf.

Hermione awoke in the early hours of morning to find herself in an unfamiliar bed wrapped in Draco's arms, which while surprising that this time they were in bed together and practically naked, she found herself drawn even closer to him. Time to take stock.

She knew her revelations of the previous night hadn't been wrong, his reaction had confirmed it. Draco was a mythical Loup-garou. She racked her brain for the few facts she had read in the book that Alex had secretly given her. She now knew why he had done it and appreciated the heads up. Had she seen Draco as she had last night and not known the legend, she might have killed him or at least caused some serious damage. Well, if her magic was working properly that is. She certainly wouldn't have believed him had he tried to tell her the truth.

The Loup-garou were so secretive that 700 years ago they had been only a myth, and today the wizarding world hadn't even heard of them. Who knew what was real and what was fiction. If the book was right, then he could have fully transformed into a wolf last night, but that wouldn't have been an advantage in their situation. They were fiercely loyal to their mates and their pack. But Draco's family was dead. She had seen him across crowded ballrooms at fundraisers over the years, and he had always been alone. As far as she could see, he had no mate. Maybe he had family in Europe? Maybe his mate was there? She didn't know. All she did know was that this man had been there for her in small ways since their fifth year, and in the past two weeks, had been there for her in every way. She was nervous to find that she was in very serious danger of falling in love with him.

Her analytical mind started to go over everything she knew about Draco Malfoy and any and all interaction they had had over the years. Maturity gave her the luxury of seeing their youthful animosity with clear eyes. She had to admit that all the times he made her cry were more due to the fact, that despite her better judgement, she had had a crush on him. Having the boy you like call you names tended to hurt way more than it did when any other boy did it. Harry and Ron had always hated Draco's ability to make her cry. He had thrown nasty names at her with horrible regularity but as they reached fourth year, things had changed. He still put on the show for his entourage but kept the bullying to a minimum unless he had an audience, content to simply watch Harry all the time. His seemingly menacing watchfulness over the subsequent years took on new meaning.

After fourth year she would catch him watching, not just Harry, but her as well―almost as much as she watched him. She may have called him a ferret but really it was only because his features were so sharp and hinted at the man he would become. On a boy it had looked strange; on the man it was stunning.

Then at the World Cup, he'd warned Harry and Ron to get her out of there, taking the chance and telling them in front of all his friends however nasty he had been about it. He had been the one to capture her when the Inquisitorial Squad had ambushed them in Fifth year and looking back, he had ushered her to the back of the room, using her friends as a shield. He hadn't wanted to let her go when she had lied to Umbridge about their plans; she had bruises from having to wrench away from him.

It wasn't until Sixth year, when Harry had caught Draco crying in the boys toilets, it became plain that he was being forced to do Voldemort's bidding and Harry had started to see things from her point of view. Away from Ron's explosive prejudices, she and Harry had had several conversations about Draco's obvious inner-conflict. It used to make Harry so mad when she had tried to convince him that Draco couldn't be a Death Eater. In truth, it had been because she hadn't wanted to believe it, hadn't wanted to believe that she fancied a boy who was in league with the darkest wizard of the age. Finding yourselves on opposing sides of societal conventions and then later on a war, was enough to break her young heart.

After the invasion of Hogwarts that resulted in Dumbledore's death, Harry had argued fiercely with Ron, trying to convince him that Draco had lowered his wand and refused to kill Dumbledore. It had been obvious that he had been forced into allowing the Death Eaters entrance into Hogwarts when you looked at the year as a whole: Draco pulling away from everyone, Harry finding him crying in the boy's toilets, and finally his hesitation and ultimate inability to kill the Headmaster. Harry and Hermione had come to believe that Draco had had no choice, that Voldemort was forcing the youngest Malfoy to do his bidding. Ron would never believe anything but the worst of Draco, and still to this day had trouble understanding that the world wasn't black and white. Harry and Hermione had always understood that there were shades of gray.

During what would have been their Seventh year, Draco had refused to identify her to his deranged Aunt Bellatrix and put himself at risk when they had all been captured by the Snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor. When they had fought their way free, Draco had not duelled to his capability at all. She had seen how ruthless he was capable of being, and it had been obvious that his heart hadn't been in that fight. Even after that undeniable piece of evidence, Ron had refused to entertain the thought that things were not all that they appeared to be when it came to Draco Malfoy.

During the Battle of Hogwarts, he had yelled at Crabbe not to kill them when the dolt had cast the Fiendfyre curse. Ron still argues that he was yelling, "Don't kill him," meaning Harry but implying that it was fine to kill Hermione.

Who knew what else Draco had done behind the scenes to try to alter the course of things? Her heart swelled at all of the things he had done for her in the past few weeks. He had been a totally different person: caring, thoughtful, concerned, attentive, compassionate, considerate and on several occasions, affectionate.

She propped herself up on her arm and tentatively began to trace his features with her finger, trying to remember what he looked like as a wolf. His eyes, though, had still been his, still beautiful. Sweet Circe, she hoped she wasn't alone in her feelings. She pulled her hand back, remembering what the book said about the Loup-garou and their mates, their packs. She had no right to him. But he was alone, wasn't he? What was it he had growled at McNair? Something about a mate? His voice had been hard to understand with the longer teeth and the snarling. Could he have...

Before she could analyse further, Draco started to stir.

Draco woke to a feeling of contentment and pleasure as fingers traced the contours of his face. He took a deep breath and savoured the sensation of having his mate close to him and willingly touching him, the scent of her in his nose, the warmth of her body lying against his. He relished the feeling of her skin, her hair on his naked chest and the effect it was having on his body. The fogginess of sleep left him abruptly and his eyes flashed open to see Hermione leaning on her elbow and staring at him intently. His eyes searched hers for fear, apprehension or horror that he feared he would find there. He didn't find it.

"Thank you," she murmured.

He frowned. "For what?"

"Everything you've done for me. All the things I know about as well as the things I don't."

He was hesitant as he reached up and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Anything for you."

Her face filled with wonder and confusion. "Why?"

He took a deep breath and struggled with everything he needed and wanted to tell her versus a lifetime of conditioning to keep the secret.

Hermione could almost feel his internal conflict and knew it was his nature to be secretive, and not because he didn't want to tell her. "You don't have a pack," she said, trying to help him in some small way.

He closed his eyes feeling relieved that she offered him a way to bring it up. "No. My pack, my family, is dead. But I have a Clan. We scattered to help preserve our way of life because too many of us in one place draws unwanted attention, but we still have our ancestral lands in the French Alps. Every five years, the Clan gathers to reaffirm our ties and status, search for potential mates, initiate new members and share information about threats to our existence."

Hermione's heart was pounding in her chest; she was learning things very few, if any, people knew about. "You said initiate new members, are you talking about bitten-"

"No!" Draco snarled out, interrupting her question. He turned to her as she shrank away from his sudden outburst. "I'm sorry." He reached out slowly, hating that he had scared her, needing the feel of her skin pressed against his. "Please. I'm sorry. Bittens are a touchy subject with us." When she didn't pull away from his touch, he slowly pulled her back into his arms, relaxing as she flowed into his embrace.

Hermione settled herself on his chest, taking comfort in the sound of his heart beating under her ear; her fingers idly played with the light dusting of hair. "Will you tell me about the initiates?" She asked tentatively. "I'm sorry I assumed that they were...well..."

He kissed her forehead to reassure her, loving the erotic feel of her silky hair as it flowed down her back and over his bare arm and shoulder, the feeling of her fingers dancing across his bare chest.

"Sometimes, only very rarely, one of us finds their mate among humans. To become a member of the clan, the human must be changed. Not into the abomination of a bitten, but a full transformation into one of us. The pair is considered to be bonded mates and revered by the Clan, as it's the rarest and strongest mating our kind can forge." It was the kind of bond his parents had had. The kind of bond he wanted with her. The kind of bond he craved.

She had a million questions racing through her mind. Was it a ceremony? Obviously it entailed more than a mere bite, otherwise he wouldn't be so touchy about bitten werewolves. Why were Bittens such a sore subject?

Draco stroked her back gently; her skin was like silk under his fingers and he couldn't get enough. "I can hear your mind whirring away from here. What do you want to know?"

"Everything. I have so many questions but I don't want to offend you or make you angry." She was afraid if she asked too much he would shut down. She was about to say something else when her stomach let out a large growl.

He chuckled. "Wow, and I thought I sounded ferocious." Hermione turned a beautiful shade of red and hit him lightly. He laughed and hugged her to him. "How about you eat and I'll tell you everything. Then when you're done you can ask as many questions as you like?"

"Really?" Hermione asked, looking up at him.

"Really." Draco reluctantly released her and got out of bed. Pulling on a robe he called for the kitchen to send up a tray. When it arrived he looked at Hermione and held out a hand, helping her out of bed and into her robe. Pulling her close he whispered low in her ear. "The Malfoy pack Den is in the Master's Suite at Malfoy Manor, behind the armoire."

She looked up in confusion and he murmured, "Fidelius Charm. You are now, the only other person on the planet who knows."

She stood there stunned at the amount of trust he was showing her as he picked up the tray and, with a thought, moved the massive armoire to the side, revealing a hidden door in the wall. When it opened he gestured for her to enter the hidden study. Hermione walked in but was struck by the warm comfort and spaciousness of the room that she assumed had been made with an Undetectable Expansion Charm. Warm wood panelling blended seamlessly with huge bookcases and the mantle of the fireplace that held a warm crackling fire. Squashy armchairs sat in front, beckoning her to snuggle in with a good book. A matching chesterfield sat on an ornate Persian rug which also held huge pillows promising that the floor would be just as comfortable as the furniture. There was even a daybed against one wall with pillows and a fluffy down duvet that promised a deep dreamless sleep.

Hermione's eye was drawn to the stacks of books and the beautiful paintings hanging on the walls. The paintings were all of different wolves who immediately stood and eyed her warily, some pacing. Over the large fireplace hung an exquisitely detailed painting of the late Lord and Lady Malfoy who were waiting for them.

"So, you've decided to tell her," Lucius drawled, sounding just as coldly arrogant as he had in life.

Draco edged around Hermione and set their breakfast tray on a low table. "That's enough, Father."

"Yes, Lucius, that _is_ enough. We discussed this," Narcissa said firmly to her husband. She smiled down at Hermione from the painting. "Welcome, my dear. We're so happy to finally meet you."

"Thank you, Lady Malfoy." Hermione said, amazed at how active the paintings were. The ones at Hogwarts mainly stayed sleeping until they were needed.

"Please, call me Narcissa."

Draco cleared his throat. "Hermione needs to eat, Mother." He looked at Hermione. "I thought you were hungry for answers."

"I do – I mean, I am! I'm sitting," she stammered out and hurried to sit in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the fireplace.

Draco transferred the tray to a side table and Hermione poured them each a coffee. Draco automatically started cutting up her breakfast for her, revelling in the domesticity.

"How do you do it?" Hermione broke the silence.

Draco looked up from her plate. "Do what?"

"How have you hidden yourselves for so long?" She looked at him in wonderment. "Loup-garou haven't even been heard of for hundreds of years, and even then they were only a myth. How?"

"You eat, I talk – that was the deal." When she picked up her fork and started to eat, he began to speak.

"Originally, we lived in Scandinavia, thousands of years ago before even the time of the Vikings. It was easy to exist then. The people feared our kind; they believed we were the earth bound familiars of the god Odin. They didn't dare attack us because no matter who fought, wolves always won. At least that was the legend. We were the bringers of Ragnarok, the end of the world." He shook his head. "Eventually the humans got brave. Wizards stirred them up against us, threatened by our innate magic and their inability to control us. There was a war and mistakes were made. For the good of the Clan, we moved to new hunting grounds in the wilds of the mountains of Central Europe, Asia, and Russia. My family is most closely aligned with the Clan in the French Alps."

He looked at her to make sure she was following the explanation. "For centuries we were safe, unknown. Then our past caught up with us and once again the Clan was in danger. We broke into packs so we could better protect ourselves and our secret. Each pack found a new home and created their own Den and hunting grounds."

Draco gestured to the hidden study they were sitting in. "This is our Den, where we can change when the pressure becomes too great. Malfoy Manor was built on vast lands that we protected from intruders with complex spells and charms enabling us to run free. In times of threat, we change only in our Den protecting us from prying eyes."

"So you can change at will. Are the myths true? Do you completely change into a full wolf?" Hermione thought back to how he looked last night and the resemblance he bore to bitten werewolves.

He nodded. "We're huge in comparison to real wolves, but yes, otherwise we're indistinguishable from a normal wolf except we retain our human intelligence and understanding. As you saw last night, we can not only change when we wish, we can control the extent of our transformation. However, running during the full moon is its own kind of bliss."

"You talked about mistakes that caused you to leave Scandinavia. Will you tell me about them?" Hermione asked quietly and heard Lucius muttering in the painting behind her. Narcissa shushed him but his disgust with the topic was palpable.

Draco too looked like he could breathe fire. "You have to understand that we had never been forced to do battle before; we had clan battles for supremacy, but never in our history had we warred against humans. Some of the humans that were attacked survived. On the next full moon we were suddenly under siege by half-transformed humans who contained all the savagery and rage of a rabid animal, but none of the human intelligence to temper it. They spread like a disease, prolific and hard to contain. We wiped out as many of them as we could find, trying to right the terrible wrong that was done. Eventually the attacks ceased but the damage was done. The werewolf legend was born, and now we were the hunted." He looked up at her, his eyes almost glowing. "We hate the Bittens because they remind us of our mistakes. They roam free, acknowledged members of wizarding society, unworthy of their blood because so many of them use it as a weapon not as the sacred heritage that it is."

"Why did your family join with Voldemort?"

Draco blew out a large breath as he stood and started to pace. "Father saw the Dark Lord researching Giants, Werewolves, Dementors, and the like when they were boys. Voldemort told my father that he thought they were persecuted and should be brought into the community, treated like equals." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Thank Merlin, Father decided to wait and see before revealing himself and our Clan. When he saw how Greyback and his pack of miscreants were treated, Father knew Voldemort had lied. He only wanted to use Werewolves as tools, cannon fodder and a way to strike fear into the wizarding world, increasing his own power. By the time Voldemort's real intentions for us revealed themselves, it was too late; our family was in too deep. We knew that if Voldemort ever succeeded he would turn on and enslave any race that wasn't pure wizard."

He sat down again. "We sent word to the Clan in France not to trust anyone and to close ranks. It worked and our secret stayed safe. From then on we did what little we could to aid the other side. But when it comes right down to it, our loyalty is to our pack and Clan first, and we were forced to do things that turned us into the monsters we've always been accused of being, simply to stay alive." He idly rubbed the faded Dark Mark on his arm wishing it had disappeared altogether when Voldemort was killed.

Hermione watched him drop his head into his hands and start to shake. She slid off her chair and moved to kneel on the floor in front of him. "It's not your fault. We all did things we aren't proud of to protect ourselves and the ones we love. I've broken laws, lied, and even killed when I had to. Your parents sacrificed themselves to save dozens of children. You've done what you can to make amends, and you fight every day to change how things are. You saved me. You've saved me many times. More times than I know about, I'm sure. I've forgiven you; now you need to forgive yourself."

He looked up at her and she saw tears in his eyes. "Why are you so good to me?"

She brushed away his tears swallowing her own. "Because…" She took a deep breath. "Because, I love you." She held her breath. When he didn't say anything tears filled her eyes and she began to back away, regretting her embarrassing case of verbal diarrhea. "I'm – I'm sor-sorry. I shouldn't have-"

Draco sat speechless at her confession as he watched tears stream down her face. When he saw her pulling away he moved, and in the blink of an eye, she was in his arms. "I love you. I've _always_ loved you." He pulled her face up and kissed her.

As her arms slid around his neck, he wound one arm around her back, the other behind her head, her hair feeling like silk as it spilled over his fingers. Her body fit perfectly with his, and he felt his animal soul howl a new song, voicing its approval, but it wanted more. His instincts demanded that he claim his mate, to mark her with his scent, warning all others that she was his. A low rumble started in his chest, and he pulled back fighting his instincts, not wanting to frighten her. She wouldn't...couldn't understand.

"Draco? What is it?" Hermione asked looking at his trembling body, his hands clenching and unclenching as he backed away.

Hermione's voice was worried and his animal was reacting to his mate's worry making things worse.

"Draco! Focus!" Lucius commanded from the painting, drawing Draco's attention and enabling him to try regain control.

"Hermione, stay still. Try to stay calm. There's nothing wrong with him. It's been too long since he changed, and he's struggling with his instincts," Narcissa said in a cautious tone.

Hermione followed the advice of Narcissa's image and watched Draco carefully. His chest was heaving as he took in deep breaths, the wildness slowly faded from his eyes and he looked at her.

"You have to tell her, son." Lucius said.

Draco looked up at the painting with tortured eyes.

His mother looked at him tenderly. "She needs to know for her own safety." She nodded encouragingly. "It's alright. It's a gift you've been given."

"What are they talking about? Tell me what?" Hermione asked as she slowly sat back down in the chair, wary of doing anything to set him off again.

Draco clutched at his hair as he sat heavily in the chaise across from her. "The reason I've tried so hard to protect you all these years. The reason I was at every fundraiser and benefit you attended. The real reason I was so horrible to you in school. I was trying to protect you. If they knew – if the Dark Court had known, we would all have been killed. I couldn't have stood by and watched you die."

Hermione could see he was struggling and went to kneel in front of him. She cupped his cheek with her palm. "It's alright, Draco. Take your time. Whatever it is, I'll understand."

"Wolves mate for life. Once we come of age and begin to transform, we find our mates by scent – once we find them, there is no other for us." He turned his face to hers. "I had been so hateful to you as a child, trying to get your attention, but at the same time terrified that I would. As we got older, you went from an awkward little girl to a very pretty teen. A pretty girl who, against all the prejudices that surrounded me, caught my eye. You were smart, loyal, brave, courageous, talented – everything that you were drew me in, but you were a muggle-born and my whole house hated you on principle."

He stopped, breathing heavily, and dug his nails into the arms of the chair in remembered frustration. "I was so conflicted and became even more hateful to you almost as if to punish you for being everything I wanted but could never have. Then I turned fifteen and the childish crush became so much more. You became so much more. I've known since we were fifteen that you were my mate. The centre of my universe, the one my wolf soul sang for. The one person who I wanted with me at all times, and the one person I could never have. If the Dark Court… I knew I would never be able to protect you like Harry and Dumbledore could, so I made you hate me and protected you when I could."

"But after the war…why didn't you say something? All these years." She broke off, unable to complete her thought.

Draco closed his eyes briefly as if in pain. "You said it yourself. The war never really ended. I kept my distance for the same reason you sent your parents away. To keep you safe. I would do, and will do, anything in my power to keep you from harm's way. To a Loup-garou our mates come first, everything else is secondary."

"That's why you saved me, why you risked blowing your cover?" she whispered.

He looked up and nodded. "I recognized your scent in the park, smelled your fear—your blood―and ran, terrified I wouldn't get there in time, furious at myself for not watching you as closely as I should have when I realized I was too late. I wanted to kill him for what he did to you, I still do, but I had to get you somewhere safe. I had to get you help or I would lose you."

"I'm surprised you didn't kill him. What he did…what happened to me was so much worse than what happened last night and yet..." Again she couldn't finish the thought. Both memories were too awful to think about.

"It's because of the time we've spent together. Another reason why I kept my distance all those years. The night I found you, we hadn't ever exchanged a civil word and had only touched on a couple of occasions. While everything I am tells me you're my mate, I hadn't had the time or proximity to form the possessive and protective parts of the bond, you hadn't...we weren't – friendly." He struggled to explain. "Before I found you in the park I knew you _could_ be my mate, knew your soul would be the other half of me. Now after the past few weeks – you _are_ my mate. There can be no other for me." He watched as her eyes went distant.

"Last night, I wasn't sure – you called me your mate, didn't you? When you threatened McNair. I thought I misheard you through the growling." She refocused. "So what does that mean for me? Why are your parents so concerned? Why 'for my own safety'?" She gestured to the painting.

"Because you're not Loup-garou. I'm bound to you as your mate, but you aren't bound the same way. Humans aren't built the same way we are. You can choose to walk away, or another could take you from me, and I would be left to live the rest of my life alone. I have to fight my instinct to mark you, to cover you in my scent and claim you as mine for fear that another Loup-garou or a human will try to take you from me. I've wanted you for so long, left you unclaimed for too many years and now you say you love me; I'm trying to control it, but with everything that you've been through and the way my wolf is urging me to claim you..." he shook his head and leaned back in the chair, looking and feeling defeated "…you would hate me."

Hermione stared at him. "You don't scare me, Draco. I don't flinch when you reach for me; your touch doesn't remind me of his. Only your arms make me feel safe. I won't lie and say that I'm ready for..." she looked down and swallowed "...for everything." She took a deep breath and met his eyes. "But I love you. I _choose_ you." She blinked through her tears. "I want to be with you, and I want you to be mine."

He reached for her and growled softly in pleasure as she flowed back in to his arms and curled in his lap with a contented sigh. He looked up to see his mother pushing his father out of the painting and out of the room with a grin. The wolves too, slunk off leaving them completely alone. They would keep watch on the house from the many paintings scattered throughout and come back to warn them if they were in danger. They were safe in their Den, as they were supposed to be.

Looking down into Hermione's upturned face, he saw hope for the first time in his life. Hope that he could have the life that he had always dreamed of but never dared to wish for. With her draped across his lap, her back supported by his arm, it left him one arm free to indulge his desire to learn her. He ran his fingers down her face slowly, savouring the smooth warmth of her skin. Gently he pushed her robe off her shoulders and exposed the silk and lace nightgown underneath. Her head tipped back slightly, her lips parting in a sigh, giving him free access when his fingers wandered down her neck to run the length of her collarbone.

He leaned forward and ran his sensitive nose up the length of her neck, inhaling her essence. As he ran it back down, he exhaled, bathing her in his scent. Pulling her up, he hesitated in the fraction of a second that separated their lips and looked in her eyes.

"Yours." Her voice was a whispered plea.

Hermione was expecting him to devour her and was shocked as he pressed the softest of kisses to her mouth. It was a caress and a question all in one, and she ran her hands up his chest and clutched at his robe wanting to be closer. He ran his lips over hers, back and forth, back and forth, and a chill rose on her skin hot and cold all at once. A whimper escaped as he began to nibble on her lower lip. She wanted to be closer, needed more. She ran her tongue over his upper lip before pulling it into her mouth and biting lightly. It was all the encouragement he needed.

Draco deepened the kiss and shuddered as his tongue met hers and she sucked on it slowly. His hand wandered over her upper chest, deliberately avoiding her breasts. He moved to her side and down her ribcage squeezing slightly. She whimpered and he pulled away thinking he had scared her. She clutched at the lapel of his robe and looked into his eyes, willing him to see she wanted this. Reassured at the desire in her eyes he kissed her again, letting his hands wander once more. When his hand slipped around her back, it broke the kiss and he nipped lightly at her jaw. Resisting the urge to mark her, he continued nipping, licking, and kissing his way down her neck to her exposed upper chest, her nipples straining against the silk of her nightgown.

Shifting, he lay her back on the rug in front of the fireplace, but as he leaned over her, as his hips rested between her thighs; he felt her body tense. Bracing himself on his elbow, he looked down at her. Her breaths were coming faster and her eyes were wide in rising fear. Sweat broke out on her brow and she started to shake. This was his mate, his love, and it made his possession of her all the more precious and worth fighting for. He understood her fears and knew that he wasn't the cause of them. He would do anything to help her, be whatever it was she needed until the mental scars faded: friend, mate, lover. He shifted away from her gently pulling her with him until she was sitting sideways across his lap once more.

"Shhh… you're safe." He ran his nose up the length of her neck her breaths were still coming too fast for his liking so he pulled away slightly. "You're safe." She looked at him, ghosts still lingering in her eyes. "Stay with me, love. Look in my eyes. Breathe."

As he spoke he stroked her face, her hair, and her back, his words and actions relaxing her and bringing her back to the present. She had been with him up until he leaned over her, trapping her with his body. Now that she was more upright and in a more dominant position the tension was leaving her body.

"I'm s-sorry."

Her whisper was so soft and filled with shame that had he not had heightened senses, he might have missed it.

"There is nothing to be sorry for. I love you – all of you." Draco looked down at her and waited until she looked up at him. "If I have to wait a hundred years for you to be ready then I will. I will because you're worth it, and you're everything I have ever wanted."

"Draco." His name was a wonder filled exhalation, and she reached out to stroke his cheek.

He held her hand to his face and breathed in deeply before pressing a kiss to her palm. He lay on his back, completely at her mercy. "Feel me, my mate. Learn my body. See who is with you now, not what was done to you before."

Her touch was hesitant and as delicate as a butterfly's wing as she trailed her fingers over the contours of his face, his ears, his neck. As she reached his chest his eyes half closed in pleasure and a groan escaped him. He dared not break eye contact though for fear that she would retreat back into herself and the terrors that stalked her mind.

His groan made her bolder, and the scent of her arousal drifted to him once more. Her touches grew more confident as he hummed his desire. Draco realized that vocalizing his pleasure was giving her confidence and feeding her own desire. Her lips parted and now her quickened breathing was from rising need rather than fear.

Draco rolled them so that they lay side by side, and Hermione watched as he drew closer and gently kissed her exposed shoulder. His tongue darted out and drew a line towards her neck. Cool wind raised goose bumps as he blew on the now damp skin. For the first time, they broke eye contact as he pulled her closer to kiss her neck.

Her head dropped back as he eased gentle kisses across her throat and up to her jaw. She leaned back, his arm catching her and lowering her gently back to the floor.

Draco caught her gaze as she looked up at him, careful to stay lying beside her. "Beautiful. You are so beautiful, _ma chanson_." Tracing a finger across her collarbone she arched into his touch as she stared into his eyes.

Her complete submission to him soothed the urge to mark her as his. He would go slow, careful to avoid any movement that may trigger her trauma. He would be able to cover her with enough of his scent to placate his wolf without frightening her now.

Hermione felt safe as he lowered himself beside her, a breath away from touching.

His voice was a low rumble as he breathed into the skin at her neck. "Mine." She shivered, her body flush with desire.

Her breath came out in a pant as he pressed an open mouthed kiss on the vein in her neck. She could feel her chest rising and falling as he licked and sucked, kissed and blew lightly over her skin in the most delicious of ways. She cried out as she felt his large warm hand on her ribs and she arched up into him, wanting to be closer, wanting to feel him close to her.

Draco's mouth covered hers as she turned to him, swallowing her moan like a man would water after a drought. He pushed his body the rest of the way along hers, aligning his body with hers fully. He felt her hands pushing his robe off, her fingers running over his skin, and he was harder than he had ever been in his life. Years he had wanted her just like this and now she was here.

Her nightgown had worked its way up and feeling her bare legs on his, he reached down to pull the silk farther up her body exposing her bare stomach and a tiny lace thong. She stiffened and he heard her gasp. Stilling, he pulled back to look in her eyes.

Seeing uncertainty and a remembered fear there, he leaned down, a whisper from kissing her. Holding her gaze, he tightened his grasp on her. "Look at me, my mate. Breathe. See who is holding you. Feel my skin on yours. Mine, your mate. You are more beautiful than the stars, and I would give you the moon if you asked for it. You're safe, my love. Safe, here with me."

Careful not to touch anywhere but her chest and waist he continued to murmur reassurances into her mouth, never breaking their gaze and her body slowly lost its tension. He saw the love in her eyes as he started to move slowly, curling around her, using his words and his scent, the feel of his body, to erase her fears.

Draco's wolf growled in satisfaction as he heard her sigh his name. The smell of her in his nose, the feel of her delectable body against his, their legs entwined no matter how chaste the positioning; it was too much after pining for her for so long. Instinct took over, the pressure built, and in a rush, he tensed and pulled her to him tightly. As the scent of sex and desire filled the room, a long held tension relaxed within him somewhat.

When his mate molded herself to his body he let out a low satisfied growl and rubbed his face into her hair. His mate was safe and relaxed in his arms, not a whiff of fear around her from a remembered terror. It wasn't the claiming that his wolf demanded but it would be enough to hold off his instincts for now. His instinct to protect her fragile psyche had overridden the need to mark her permanently, and this way she would smell of him for days. His scent on her skin would work as a deterrent to other creatures with heightened senses that this woman was claimed. The man in him knew his actions were primitive, but the more dominant animalistic side of him demanded that he protect his mate from others who may challenge his right to keep her. Another passing Loup-garou would know to stay clear for fear of inciting a challenge on another pack's territory and Bittens wouldn't dare go near her for fear of angering the local Alpha. She would be relatively safe for the time being; she was his. Nothing and no one would take her from him. Rolling to his back he pulled Hermione's small body on top of his and together they slept, content and safe in their Den.

* * *

A/N: A little citrus for you...A detailed look at Draco's struggles over the years and some much demanded answers. Hope you liked it. Don't be afraid to tell me your thoughts.


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